


Deep Water

by Otheliame



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Surfers, Angst, Asexual Pidge | Katie Holt, Background Relationships, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Blood, Blood and Injury, British Allura (Voltron), Cuban Lance (Voltron), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Keith (Voltron), Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Lesbian Romelle (Voltron), Lesbian Veronica (Voltron), M/M, Minor Acxa/Veronica (Voltron), Minor Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Minor Allura/Romelle (Voltron), Minor Ezor/Zethrid (Voltron), Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, POV Alternating, POV Keith (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), POV Third Person, Pansexual Allura (Voltron), Past Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Polynesian Hunk (Voltron), Primarily Lance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Surfer AU, Surfing AU, They/Them Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, This is Gonna be Hella Gay Eventually, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-07-20 05:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 74,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19987117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otheliame/pseuds/Otheliame
Summary: Lance has always had a bond with the ocean. He's one of those kids who learned how to swim before he could walk, and his biggest dream is to follow in his hero, Takashi Shirogane's footsteps to be the next big name in surfing. But he has a long way to get there, with many challenges to overcome, from rival surfing teams, internal struggles, and these weird, persistent feelings for his self proclaimed rival he met at his first surfing competition.Someday he swears he's going to go the distance, but as it always is when you're clawing your way to the top, there are those who seek to knock you down....Keith never really belonged anywhere, but that changed when became a part of the Shirogane household, and Shiro introduced him to surfing. He loved it immediately, he found that sense of purpose he's always been lacking but after the accident Keith loses his sense of direction. He's not willing to face the cost that that purpose gave him. That is, until this random Cuban kid shows up.Keith won't admit it but he's scared of allowing himself to embrace his passions again. But sometimes, when helping someone come out of their shell, all you have to do is knock.





	1. As It Was Before (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> Hell yeah that's right it's a motherfucking Klance Surfer Au let's GO!  
> Inspired by Deep Water by American Authors (which is a bop, highly recommend)  
> I'll post specific content warnings at the beginning of chapters as they're relevant rather than flooding the main tag section with one-time tags, tho some things are repetative so those go in the overall tags. Unless the one time tags are significant and may be particularly triggering, bc safety is important.  
> Chapter 1 Warning: *Intense and Graphic Depictions of Blood and Injury near the end*  
> 

Lance, Hunk, and Pidge have been standing at the taco truck for at least an hour now, but there’s no amount of crunchy shells or refried beans that can sate the ravenous butterflies clanging around in Lance’s stomach, acting like monkeys with cymbals. 

“You’ve got this in the bag, man.” Hunk reassures him as he licks some salsa off of his thumb, speaking around the food in his mouth, “You’ve been training for what, two weeks? Three?” 

“Three and a half.” Pidge corrects as they prop their foot on the bench next to Hunk where they sit next to Lance, leaning their head in their hand as they scroll through the newsfeed on their phone. The sun is setting on the boardwalk where the trio sit at a picnic bench, and the summertime crowds are really starting to pick up, it was frankly a miracle that they were able to grab this table before some tourist family snatched it up. The competition tomorrow isn’t a big one, nothing like a qualifying heat or a championship, but it’s still a part of the ISF Surfing Festival, and that _always_ draws a crowd, surfers and enthusiasts alike. The evening air is crisp but warm, the remaining beams of golden light slightly ease the growing knots in Lance’s sun-kissed back and momentarily Lance wishes that he’d thought to wear an actual shirt instead of a tank top. He didn’t surf today so he could rest up for the competition tomorrow, he’d worn the tank to even out the beginnings of the tan line he’d started to get from the new surf suit his mom got him for the competition. _It’s always important to put your best foot forward when going into a new crowd_ , she’d said, _feeling like you belong helps with the nerves._

Lance lets out an indignant huff, waving a hand in the air with a dramatic flair as he grumbles, “It doesn’t matter how much I’ve been _training_ if I screw up in the moment! It’s like Shiro always says, it’s one part training, one part talent, one part luck-”

“‘-and two parts patience, knowing the time to strike.’ Yeah we know.” Hunk finishes for him, shaking his head a bit as he wipes his face with a napkin, “You know I think that you should really try to meet the guy someday and get some quotes that aren’t from that SURFER article.”

Lance shoots Hunk a playful glare as Pidge pipes up, “You actually might be able to; It looks like he’s in town for the competition tomorrow.” 

Lance immediately gasps, both of his hands planting on the picnic table as he rockets to his feet, “No way! Is he gonna compete?!” 

Pidge only gives him a slightly bemused side eye before they continue scrolling down their Twitter feed, “I dunno, dude, check his Insta, he just tagged his location at the competition beach.” 

Lance immediately whips out his phone to confirm the allegations, sitting back down as Hunk lets out a low huff, “Man, I wish that I could come tomorrow but I’ve gotta watch my baby cousin. She won’t even let me bring her, either. _Too many people around_ she says, _who knows what could happen_ . But at least we can get some previctory dinner before you embark on your first big competition.” Hunk sniffles and wipes a faux tear from his eye as he warbles, _“They grow up so fast.”_

Lance pushes on his shoulder from across the table playfully as he opens up Shiro’s Instagram profile. He has him on notifications so he’s shocked that he didn’t see the picture he posted of the seaside and Lance realizes that Pidge is right; he recognizes the boardwalk pier just beyond with the massive _Krabby Joes_ sign barely peeking over a wooden archway. _‘So Shiro_ **_is_ ** _in town.’_ Lance thinks to himself.

 _Takashi Shirogane._ It’s a name Lance has imprinted behind his eyelids, the surfing legend who broke record after record after record at the height of his surfing career when Lance was 13. His parents immigrated to the US from Japan but he was born and raised in Hermosa Beach California, where he watched the yearly surfing competitions and decided to set his name in the waves of history. That’s the first sentence from the short biography the SURFER pulled together for their exclusive. Lance has the whole article practically memorized he’s read it so many times, gleaning it for inspiration and counsel as he started to pursue his dream and follow in his hero’s footsteps. _To be the next big surfing name,_ Lance thinks to himself dreamily, leaning his chin in his hand as he drops his phone to the table. _Lance McClain, surfer extraordinaire. ISF Surfing Champion. Then_ **_World_ ** _Champion. That would make my mima proud._

_Just have to start the actual winning part first._

“Ah, shit. Looks like the Galra are already here.” Lance turns to Pidge with a raised eyebrow as they hold out their phone, showing him a tweet from the surfing team of what looks like their view from a hotel overlooking the boardwalk. 

“Ugh.” Lance growls under his breath, crossing his arms over the table as he stares down his uneaten taco, suddenly losing any semblance of an appetite.

“Those guys are nothing but trouble. I don’t even get why the festival officials even let them keep competing, haven’t they gotten in trouble like… twelve times now?” Hunk’s tone matches Lance’s mood as he stacks his and Pidge’s empty paper plates and containers on top of one another before he raises an eyebrow at Lance’s untouched box, “You gonna eat that?”

Lance shrugs and taps on it with a long index finger, responding simply, “Call this victory dinner tomorrow.” Hunk grins at this as Lance huffs and continues with the previous thought, “But honestly, _fuck_ the Galra, especially that guy Lotor. He drives me up the fucking _wall_ with his snooty attitude and _too good for you_ blah de blah, I hate watching him win because he’s all ‘ _well of course I won, I’m Loooootor’_.”

Hunk furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side in thought, “Wasn’t there a whole scandal last year about how he scuffed up opponent’s boards to try and wreck their scores? Why is he still allowed to compete?”

Pidge shoves their phone in their cargo short pockets, resting their hands with laced fingers beneath their chin as they reply simply, “Because of Lotor’s daddy’s money. I think his dad owns something like half of the festival’s sponsors, or is at least on their Board of Trustees. Lotor could probably get away with just about anything unless he were caught red handed.”

Lance frowns at this and looks down at his styrofoam container with uneaten tacos within with an even less interested expression as his heart sinks in his chest. Hunk seems to catch on this relatively quickly, as he reaches out and pats his shoulder to pull Lance’s baby blue eyes to his, “Hey man, don’t worry about all that. You’re gonna do great tomorrow.” 

“Besides,” Pidge offers helpfully with a wry smirk thrown in Lance’s direction, “I doubt you’re a big enough of a deal to catch his attention just yet.” 

Lance puffs up with a fierce pout, “Hey!”

“I said yet!” Pidge cries in defense, raising their hands over their head with wide, playful eyes before they let them drop back down to their lap, “We’ll have him trying to sabotage your board in no time, sharpshooter, just you wait.” 

Lance smiles at the nickname, earned after a game of lasertag for Hunk’s birthday five or so years ago. Although Lance knows Pidge is being silly, it does make him feel marginally better in some respect. He’s a small fish about to dive into a huge pond, he knows this and that’s most of the reason why he’s so nervous he could probably wring his own intestines right now by breathing that’s how tense he is. He wants to be a bigger fish, though, join the circle of greats like Shiro, get to a point where Lotor’s threatened by him… 

But for the moment he’s okay with not being there just yet.

“It’s getting late.” Pidge says after a moment, flickering their hazel gaze over to the horizon. The sun has fully slipped beneath it, casting the sky in vibrant colors of gold, pink, and orange like angels are having a paintball gun fight up in heaven, and when Lance checks his phone he sees that it’s half past eight. 

“Yeah, you’ve gotta get home, dude!” Hunk stands upright quickly from the table, flashing Lance a bright smile that makes Lance’s chest feel all warm and tingly, “First waves are at 7:30 right? So you’ve gotta be there by 7 at least!” 

Pidge smirks and shakes their head with an off handed gesture, “Probably there more like 6:30, if your _manager_ has any say in it.” They flash him a wink as Lance rises from the table, pulling on their backpack where they left it at their feet under the picnic table. 

Pidge and Hunk have been his two number one’s ever since Lance decided to get serious about surfing when they were about to be sophomores in high school, and when it came to training for the competition they both unanimously decided to be his team supporters and, as Pidge put it, _‘managers’_ . Lance has lost count of the amount of times Pidge has driven him to the gym, timed his heats, rated his scores, sent him Youtube video after Youtube video of tricks for him to try. Hunk took it as his personal job to watch Lance’s nutrition, hence why Lance’s taco doesn’t have any nacho cheese on it like he likes, and grilled chicken instead of ground beef, as well as being his camera guy when videoing him surfing so he can watch them later and learn from his own mistakes by looking at a third party view. Lance likes to tease and gripe with them about it sometimes, calling them _parent_ and _dad_ respectively for riding his ass, but secretly he loves it. It takes his joy from surfing to a whole other level when he’s being so supported by his best friends.

Lance can’t help but let out a loud laugh, “Yeah, good luck trying to wake me up at 6 in the morning! I’m so charged up about tomorrow that I’m probably not gonna be able to sleep tonight until like… 2.”

Pidge cocks an eyebrow at him, “ _Oh_ , challenge _accepted_.” 

“Oh crow, please don’t start off the big day tomorrow trying to kill each other.” Hunk pleads, the three end up laughing together as they leave the taco truck behind and head down the boardwalk. Pidge, being the one in the group who has their own car, takes Hunk home first before dropping Lance off at his house, promising to return at the crack of dawn to get his ass up for the competition tomorrow before driving off. 

Lance holds his to go box containing his untouched taco close to his chest as he heads inside, calling out into the shadowy foyer as he kicks off his sandals, _“Hola volví!”_

Veronica sticks her head over the couch next to the entryway and looks at him with a raised eyebrow, “Whoa, hey. How was dinner?”

“Good, good.” Lance rounds the couch and plops down beside his sister, immediately kicking his feet up on the coffee table before the little cable tv sitting on its stand. It’s playing some raunchy romcom from what he can tell, but based on the scour of papers, binders, and his sister’s open laptop on the other side of her on the couch Lance can guess that it’s more background noise rather than genuine entertainment. “How’s studying for that nurse’s exam going?” Lance asks as he takes the remote to switch the channel. 

Veronica immediately snatches it from him with a glare, “Oh _no you don’t!_ That’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane right now.” 

Lance pouts but relents, crossing his arms as he grumbles under his breath, “ _Fine_. But only ‘cause you’re suffering.” 

Veronica smirks but doesn’t otherwise reply, scribbling down some notes as she alternates looking at her laptop screen to a thumbed piece of paper in the binder on her lap. “So, you nervous about tomorrow?”

Lance lets out a low breath while also blowing a raspberry, waving her off with a confident grin, “Pfft, heck no, I’ve got it in the bag. Those judge’s won’t know what hit ‘em! Catch me out there hanging a ten!”

“Right.” Veronica replies with an amused tone, Lance shoots her a soft glare in response. “You better get to sleep, I heard Pidge’s waking you up before the sun.” 

“Oh, _great_.” Lance grumbles as he rises to his feet again, but not before Veronica manages to ruffle his hair. He shoots her a glare to which she responds with a shit eating grin, he sticks his tongue out at her as he moves to march up the stairs to his room. 

His dad’s out late working on a project and his mom picked up an extra shift, so tonight it’s just him, Veronica, Jacob and June. He can see the light on underneath their door and he decides not to knock to say goodnight at the last second; he’s not exactly keen on taking the gamble of whether or not the pre-teen twins are in a mood or not, they’re 12 and reaching that point of almost-teenagehood where they’re getting to be completely insufferable. Lance loves them, no doubt about it, he’ll throw the first punch if someone were to talk shit about them, but that doesn’t stop him from talking his own shit. But he’s the _only one_ allowed to do so, because they’re _his_ insufferable siblings. 

He ducks into his room, closing the door behind him before he lets out a heavy sigh, striding across the cluttered floor to collapse dramatically on his bed. His walls are covered in posters from the SURFER, usually of featured riders and artsy pictures of waves, as well as polaroids, photo-booth pictures, and random bits of memorabilia taped to the walls. Mostly pictures of him, Pidge, and Hunk, but also a bunch with him and his siblings, Veronica, Jacob, June, and Marco. Marco’s 23 now and has his own place up in Seattle working for Amazon, he’s a big management and money-stuff guy now with that BA in Business Administration. Lance misses him; he’s a ray of sunshine that likes to joke around as much as Lance does, but now he’s got all kinds of important Adulting stuff to do now. Not that Lance doesn’t adult now - he just graduated high school - but Marco’s like, a _real_ adult. Does his own taxes, knows how to do them, too. All that noise. Still, Lance misses having him around. 

Lance rolls over onto his side and turns on the fairy lights around his bed post so he can have the soft ambiance rather than sit in the dark before he opens his phone and starts scrolling through his social media. Re-checking out Shiro’s Insta post and reading the comments before going on Twitter. Checking up on the official ISF pages and confirming that the first few heats are indeed at 7:30 in the morning, confirming his position and number on the beach for him and his two boards, one long and one short. 

They’re his first ever boards that he’s ever owned. The shortboard is from Christmas three years ago when Lance was 15 and he was getting serious about surfing, the longboard was for his birthday last year when he declared he was going to compete at the ISF festival next summer when he turned 18, _this_ summer. He dreamed about this ever since he was 14, ever since he started really getting interested in the surfing scene, and now it’s happening. _It’s really happening._

 _Tomorrow’s gonna be my moment._ Lance thinks to himself as he scrolls through Twitter, checking out the competition mostly but also unwinding so he can try and get some sleep. _I get a chance to really put my name and face out there and show the world what I’m made of. I just gotta keep my head in the game and take some risks, make those judges remember me. Heck, who knows, maybe one day I can be as much of a legend as Shiro._

_Now wouldn’t that be something?_

Well, he’s not a World Champ like Lance wants to be, he’s never competed on that level… but he could. He’s actually been faced with a lot of pressure from all kinds of places to go to the next tier because the man’s good. Like, **really** good. That’s part of the reason why Lance reveres him so. He does his own thing, what he wants and on his own terms, and that’s something Lance can seriously respect. Especially since he seems like a really cool, friendly, more than decent guy. In an ideal world Lance would wanna be friends with him, he would be fun to hang out with. 

_Maybe I could get a chance to meet him tomorrow._ Lance thinks to himself as he finds his eyes starting to close, he frantically sets an alarm for 6am, _8 hours from now,_ and sets it aside, turning of his fairy lights. _Pidge said he’s in town, he’s gotta be here for the heat tomorrow._ It’s not a big heat, but its a part of the ISF Festival, they’ve got about a dozen competitions as a part of the celebration and this is the kickoff, each competition after is for the chance to get to the championship, the last heat at the end of the summer. It’s part of the reason why Lance signed up for this one, it’s just for fun and without the eliminating elements, but it’s still a serious competition, with serious judges who give you serious scores and rates. A lot of surfers in the competition surf in the kickoff even though it’s not a part of the actual, elimination games following after because it gives them a chance to improve their base score before they go into the rounds. If Lance remembers correctly, he thinks Shiro’s rate is sitting at a 9.77 right now; an almost perfect number 10. It hasn’t changed in a while, though. That means he hasn’t been surfing, at least not competitively. 

Lance turns over on his side and closes his eyes, his thoughts grow hazy as sleep begins to take him. _I wonder what my first score is gonna be_ . Lance thinks idly to himself, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. _Hunk says I can land an easy 8 or 9. Pidge says someplace between 6 and 8._ For a first time competition, those would be stellar numbers. Lance hopes he can achieve them. No, he _knows_ he can. 

_Tomorrow’s gonna be the game changer, no matter what happens. This is just the beginning._

_Look out world,_ Lance’s thoughts rumble just before they silence with slumber, _here comes Lance McClain._

… 

Pidge is true to their word. Lance wakes up with their tiny hands grabbing his shoulders and roughly shaking him awake. “Dude, _get up!_ You slept through your alarm!” 

Lance’s eyes immediately snap open as terror seizes his veins, he’s up and stumbling to his feet before he can really gather the ability to be a living human being before he thinks to check his phone and sees the time: 6:04. 

_“Dios mío,_ Pidge, I thought it was like, 8 or something!” Lance huffs with a hand on his hip, taking calming breaths to settle the coursing adrenaline shocking through his veins. Pidge is wearing a t-shirt that says _“I don’t trust atoms, they make up everything”_ and cargo shorts with flip flops, their stopwatch strapped to their wrist.

“Well, you _did_ sleep through your alarm.” They point to his screen where it shows the snoozing icon from Lance’s alarm that he’d set for 6. 

“By _4 minutes_.” Lance complains, but he doesn’t get the opportunity to whine any more as Pidge immediately claps their hands, “Alright, well you’re up now, so get ready! Surf suit on, grab a change of clothes, sunscreen-!”

“Okay, okay, _parent_.” Lance groans as he does as they command, waving them off with a huff, “My mom packed us lunches and snacks, they’re down in the fridge.”

“Perfect! As soon as you’re ready, help me get your boards on the roof of my car, then we can head out.” Pidge says as they clap Lance on the back, turning on heel and marching out the door without a second to waste. 

Lance regrets the day he gave them a spare key to the house. 

He loves them with all of his heart, don’t get him wrong, but _damnit_ he didn’t sign up for a heart attack at… 6:06 in the morning.

By 6:18 Lance has his surfing suit on underneath a pair of athletic shorts and the ‘team t-shirt’ that Pidge and Hunk got for him: essentially it’s just a light blue, run of the mill shirt that has MCCLAIN written on his shoulders and a caricature of his face on the front on a flag planted on the moon. He loves the thing to pieces, it’s honestly the greatest gift the pair ever gave him, even though it was meant to be a gag. Unfortunately he can’t wear it in the water since that’s not what it was made for, but luckily his surf suit is, it’s a dark navy with light blue highlights up his legs and arms. Makes him look professional. But he’s still getting used to it; he’s only ever surfed in board shorts his whole life until a month ago when his mom got him the suit for the competition and he started surfing in it to break it in. It’s just so… _tight_ . _Everywhere_ . Lance’s physique is a sharp swimmer’s body, thanks to his slim waist and long limbs, but he doesn’t think his physique is _that_ good. Only the hottest of guys look excellent in a swim suit. Although, Lance thinks as he eyes his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he does look fairly decent. _Decent enough to not look like a baby in a onesie._ He thinks to himself with self deprecating amusement before he heads down the stairs.

Pidge has the lunches loaded up in the car as well as a cooler full of bottled water, two foldable chairs, an umbrella with a corkscrew bottom for stabbing into the sand, and an army of sunscreen, which at their behest Lance promises to apply when they get to the beach, _even though the sun’s barely out yet._ The sky is a dark scarlet and slowly morphing to a burning orange, like the sky is being set on fire; there’s no wind, barely a breeze, the temperature is comfortable, and there’s not a cloud in sight. _A perfect day to surf. Let’s hope the waves agree._

Lance isn’t nervous yet. Getting ready for the day is an easy distractor as he helps Pidge strap his two boards to the hood of their secondhand 2008 Subaru Outback. It was once their brother Matt’s, but was passed down to them about a month ago so they could drive themselves to their summer internship at the local aquarium, and then later to college at Stanford. 

Lance is not looking forward to that, Pidge going off to study 6 hours away. But he’s happy that at least Hunk will be at UCLA, just a half hour away from where they live in Hermosa. 

He gets nervous sometimes, as he didn’t bother applying to college because _surfing_ is his dream, why bother getting some rando degree in something he doesn’t even care about when what he wants to do is make bank off of sponsorships being the next Shiro? But _everyone’s_ saying there’s no life without a degree now a days, he knows that that’s not true but it’s still hard not to get FOMO when almost everyone in his graduating class is heading off to some part of the country. 

It’s not going to be easy to be the next big surfer, and Lance knows it will likely take him a while to accomplish… if at all. And his dad does _not_ like that. He was the oldest of 12 in Cuba, he knows intimately the hardships life can bring when one’s not financially secure and the last thing he wants is for Lance to experience it for himself when he has opportunities to keep that from happening. They’ve butt heads about it a _lot_ , ever since he was 15. Lance gets why he’s at odds with his dream, he really does, he knows he’s just trying to look out for what’s best for him. But it still kind of sucks that it’s part of the reason why he’s never come to watch Lance surf. 

But his mom does. She was a little apprehensive at first too, but after seeing him do it, the obvious passion he put into it, how much he _cared_ and _loved_ the ocean, she realized that no amount of arguing was going to change his mind; Cubans are stubborn, always have been always will be, and the McClain’s are no exception. So she decided to support him in it. _If you can’t fight them, join them._

Not the _best_ attitude, Lance thinks, but it’s better than the alternative. And it’s not like she’s not as passionate about surfing because of it. She’s so in tune to the surfing community now that she’s practically a soccer mom on the beach, she was the one bringing him water and making sure he was wearing sunscreen before Pidge and Hunk took up the roles. She’d tried her damnedest to get off work so she could go to Lance’s competition today, too, but her boss is a bit of a prick about taking off shifts on short notice. So says Lance, at least. And Veronica. And their dad. And any normal human being on the face of the planet. _But whatever._ Lance grumbles in his head. _All the more reason why I’ve gotta hit it big._ Lance sets his brow with fresh determination, _so I can take care of the family, so that Mom doesn’t have to slave away at a diner with a boss that thinks asking for a vacation day is one step away from a two week’s notice._

Just as Pidge and Lance finish strapping the pair of boards to the roof of the car, suddenly the front door opens and Veronica comes outside. She’s wearing a big, tan sunhat and a crop top that reads “Bae Watch” and high waisted shorts, a pair of large sunglasses are tucked into the neck of the shirt as she strides out with a small satchel slung over her shoulder and a paperback textbook hugged to her chest that reads _“Pharmacology for Nurses”_. 

Lance blinks stupidly for a solid minute as Veronica stops on the sidewalk before he’s able to come to his senses enough to find words to speak, “Vero, what the hell are you doing up?”

Veronica scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Coming to support you, _mongo_.” 

Pidge doesn’t even pause, unphased they get into the driver’s seat, “Well then I hope you’re ready, ‘cause we’re about to head out.” 

Veronica merely shoots Lance a wicked grin as she marches around the car, “Shotgun.” 

“Hey!” Lance cries but Veronica is too fast, she’s already inside and shutting the door once Lance makes it around to the side of the car. Grumbling and bitter he shoots her a harsh glare before he gets into the back seat of the car, “Seriously? I have a big competition today and I can’t even get shotgun?” Veronica only smiles as Lance internally swears that his revenge is coming, and it will be _swift_ and _unmerciful_. 

The drive to the beach is both painstakingly long and over in a snap, and it’s only when Lance locks eyes on the official ISF Festival banner that the reality of the moment hits him. _He’s about to compete in a big league. Well, it’s not like, a_ **_big_ ** _league, but it’s big enough that it draws a crowd. He’s surfing in the kickoff for the ISF Festival._ It’s gonna be a rather big crowd too, Lance looks on as Pidge swears up and down with vulgar phrases that would earn a sailing chancleta from his mima if he even _thought_ them as they try to find parking amid the seas of cars and trucks, strapped with hundreds of boards, long and short. Eventually they make it, however, and Lance becomes once again preoccupied in getting the boards off the roof as Pidge opens their email to investigate the check-in location. 

“There’s a table at the entrance to the beach, that’s where we’ll get our campout location and you’ll get your group number.” Pidge declares, closing their phone and looking over right as Lance tosses the ropes holding the boards into the open windows of the car. 

Lance lets out a breath as he flickers his gaze between Veronica and Pidge, swallowing down the growing nerves to focus on the task at hand. “Help a brother out with these boards?”

The trio manage to carry all the supplies in one trip, making the check in at the initial table breeze by relatively quickly. The guy at the table hands them a brochure of the day’s events and a map of the beach, pointing them to their section in around the middle. Each segment of the beach is divided into same sized sections for each of the surfers to set their stuff up at, but unlike Lance most surfers have at least two or three other surfers - their team - and caddies, accompanying them, and the number of bodies are rapidly stacking up. The beach is already packed, surfing teams coming in with coolers, caddies and friends following behind with their boards, there’s gotta be at least a _hundred_ people here. So, the spot that Lance finds himself in for his own stuff feels rather large, and the massive tent getting set up to his right makes him realize, for the second time, _exactly_ what he is. _A little fish in a big pond. A_ **_huge_ ** _ass pond._

_Oh fuck me._

“Oh hell no, don’t you do it, Lance.” He snaps back into focus as Veronica rounds about and claps her hands on his cheeks, looking at him with the same, penetrating, ocean blue eyes that they both inherited, “Don’t worry about anyone else, _amigo_. Keep your head in the game.” 

“Yeah man,” Pidge offers as they set up his shortboard up on the provided stand in the middle of the segment, “Comparison is the death of happiness.” When Lance blinks at them in confusion their gaze flickers to the very tent that Lance was eyeing before giving him a meaningful look. 

Lance huffs and raises his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright, message received. Yeesh.” He chews on his lip as he pulls out his phone from his shorts and checks the time, 7:10. “Alright. Focus.” He repeats mostly to himself, letting out a slow breath before he smirks, singing in a familiar tune, _“Gotta get my, get my head in the game.”_

Veronica immediately reaches out and smacks him, making Lance grin wildly.

Once they’ve set up their station, as in put up Lance’s pair of boards, unfolded the pair of chairs, set up the umbrella, and set down the little cooler and lunches, they gather around Pidge as they produce the thick brochure the front table gave them that shows the day’s schedule. 

“Okay team, so it starts out with the juniors heats before we get into the longboard competitions.” Pidge states, their eyebrows furrowed as they regard the brochure, flipping it front to back as the McClain siblings look on over their shoulder, “Men’s first, then women’s. _Okay, first of all, fuck the binary._ ” Pidge grumbles under their breath, obviously they didn’t intend for the other two to overhear them as they continue trailing a finger along the lines. Lance can’t help but snicker as he ruffles their hair. Pidge doesn’t even blink, they continue after the brief pause, “After that it’s shortboard, men then women again.” 

“Holy shit.” Veronica mutters with wide eyes, touching a manicured index finger to the bottom of the brochure, “There are _36_ surfers here?” 

Lance looks up and down the beachside and wonders how it’s _only_ 36\. In this small area they are secluded in they’re like in a bubble compared to the madness around them. _Big pond. Big pond._

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Pidge replies with a shrug, pointing out a line in the brochure, “Each heat only has 3 surfers to reduce any clutter, and fifteen minutes per heat to catch the waves. So looks like juniors may only take half an hour, check out the groupings.” They look up after a moment to get Lance’s attention, pointing out the group segments on the back. There are only two juniors groups, six surfers, and another ten groups after, odd numbers look like men and even look like women, judging based off of the gendered nature of the names Lance can see. He’s in group 5, his name is in the middle with two names he doesn’t recognize, James Griffin and Keith Kogane. 

Before Lance can investigate the groups more, Pidge is rolling up the brochure as they look over to Lance, “Speaking of waves, we should go check them out. See what you’ve got to work with.” 

Lance lets out another slow, controlled breath as he tries not to feel daunted by the number of bodies on the beach. “Alright, yeah.” He says with a forced, playful smirk, “Let’s check out them waves.”

So Lance makes his way through the crowd, following the sound of the crashing waves. Almost immediately his nerves begin to settle as the wide open blues of the water come into view, his vision almost tunnels and his strides become longer. He stops when he reaches the roped fence, for keeping people back from the surf, and the tension in his shoulders immediately begins to relax. Down the beach on the end towards the road is the ambulance for emergencies, though fortunately most of the time they go unused unless a surfer fucked up their knee or something on a fall because those who ride in the Festival are experienced. The people who end up doing the most are the officials on jetskis in the water, who take surfers to the start and then back after their heat so they don’t get exhausted, Lance can see them banked just on the surf, ready to go with a turn of a key.

The waves look excellent for surfing. Based on what Lance can see, there are a lot of big tubing waves, big enough for a person to slip beneath and to glide across and immediately a grin starts to creep up Lance’s features; those are Lance’s _favorite_ kind of waves. They’re more dangerous, though, they’re stronger and can force a surfer deeper under water and toss them around if they get crashed on, making it harder to make it back to the surface. But there’s nothing better than riding a silky stream straight through, Lance always feels like he’s one with the water and he was born to fit there, a tunnel made by the sea just for him. 

“Wow. These waves are looking great today.” Lance blinks at the unfamiliar voice to his right and when he looks over his heart stops on its tracks, his back straightens and his eyes widen as his throat tightens like he’s suddenly being strangled. 

_There’s no way._ Lance thinks to himself. _I have to be dreaming right now. There is no way that Takashi Shirogane himself is standing next to me and talking about the waves for the competition today. There’s no way._

But it is. Lance knows his face anywhere. He stands tall and proud with umber eyes trailing the crashing waves on the sands before them, his arms are crossed over his bare chest with his completely black surfing suit half undone and hanging around his waist. 

_He’s taller than I thought he would be_ . _He’s gotta be like… 6’2, 6’3 at least._

Lance swallows on the sudden dryness in his throat when those slanted, almond shaped eyes turn and regard him with warmth and familiarity as his idol speaks again, “Don’t you think?”

 _Oh my God. He’s talking to me. Holy fuck. This is not a drill, I repeat, this is NOT A DRILL._ Lance swallows again and stares at him for a lot longer than he’d care to admit before he suddenly realizes _fuck I need to say something_. Only then does he stammer, “Holy fu- Shiro? You’re Shiro. Like… the Shiro.” 

Shiro looks back at him with a raised eyebrow and a slightly bemused expression, “... Uh yeah. It’s nice to meet you… McClain?” He flickers his gaze to the side of Lance’s shirt, on the back where his last name is displayed before he holds out a hand to shake. 

Lance has never latched onto someone’s hand so fast in his life. He shakes it up and down vigorously, his mouth suddenly starts working again and it goes into overdrive, “It’s such an honor to meet you! I’ve heard all about you, you’re like, the greatest surfer ever! Wow, it’s so great to meet you - I’m Lance! Lance McClain. But you got that last part from my shirt huh? Hah, that makes sense. My friends got it for me as a gag gift ‘cause I don’t have a team shirt to wear or anything ‘cause I’m not on a team, it’s just little old me-” Lance cuts himself off once he realizes he’s rambling, shaking his head a bit as he releases a slightly confused Shiro’s hand. He clears his throat, speaking a lot slower as he tries to smile in a natural, charming manner, “So, are you surfing today?” 

Shiro nods, there’s a light, amicable twinkle in his eye as he regards the sky blue eyed other before him, “Yeah, getting back into the swing of things. I’ve been away for a while visiting family in the south-midwest.” He looks off beyond Lance and to the waters over his shoulder, his voice grows wistful and pensive, “I think we’re gonna have a good competition today.” He pauses and looks back at Lance before flashing him another charming, charismatic smile, “Gotta say, I’m pretty excited.” 

“Me too!” Lance proclaims excitedly, grinning a bit like a fool, “It’s my first competition today. So I get what you mean. Kinda. Like, the ‘getting into the swing of things’ sort of way.” A figure shifts to stand on the other side of Shiro and Lance locks eyes with a stranger with indigo irises and his throat tightens for the second time within ten minutes, but now for a whole other reason. 

First thing Lance notices is that he’s pale. Like, _if he’s not wearing sunscreen at every second of the day he’s lucky he’s not gonna look like a lobster_ pale. His black hair is longer at the nape of his neck, curling on the edges and wild bangs hang in his eyes, tousled in the light, lazy breeze gracing the seaside. 

Lance dry swallows again as a wave of heat splashes his face, and it isn’t from the rising sun. He’s good looking, handsome… _pretty._ Like, _really_ pretty. He didn’t think that guys could be described as pretty but looking at this dude standing on the other side of his surfing hero Lance realizes that he was dead wrong. Because this guy is _Pretty. Capital P._

 _Damn._ Lance thinks to himself as his stomach does a flip. Once he overcomes the sudden onslaught of vaguely gay emotions he realizes he’s also wearing a surfing suit, it has red accents along the sides almost like racing stripes and the material covers everything except a stretch of pale skin beneath his jawline and the tops of his bare feet, covered in sand. _He’s gotta be a novice surfer with skin like that_ . Lance purses his lips thoughtfully, _No one spends hours in the sun and doesn’t have some sort of tan, and I mean no one. This white boy isn’t gonna last an hour in the sun, even in the morning light like this._

The stranger doesn’t meet Lance’s gaze for more than a second before he’s turning to Shiro, “They’re calling for juniors in a minute, judge’s are already at the table.” 

Shiro turns to the other with a bright smile, crinkling under his friendly eyes as he nods appreciatively, “Awesome, thanks.” Shiro gestures idly towards Lance as he continues speaking to Keith, “I just met someone else who’s competing for the first time, too. This is Lance.” He glances back over at Lance before jutting a thumb to his companion, “Lance, This is my foster brother, Keith.” 

_Keith. So that’s your name. Maybe even the Keith Kogane that’s in my heat group. Who’s foster brothers with The Shiro._

_What a plot twist._

Feelings out of his element, Lance does what he does best: act like a complete idiot. He snaps a pair of finger guns at the attractive stranger and flashes him a lopsided grin, “Nice, getting an inside look at the competition! You’re in group 5, right? We’ll be facing off pretty soon, then. Can’t wait to crush you into the sand.” Lance balks a little as the words slip out, he flickers his gaze to the side as fights the urge to backtrack. _That sounded kind of aggressive. But it_ **_is_ ** _a competition, right? Bleh, he’s just got me all out of sorts because he’s hot-_

Keith cocks an eyebrow at Lance before smirking crookedly, Lance has to fight the urge to blush as the other growls in a husky manner, “Sure, dream on.”

Suddenly a loud voice, projected over a megaphone, echoes across the beach and silences every human on it, “Juniors heat in five minutes. Junior Group 1 surfers, make your way to the beach. Junior Group 2 on standby.” 

“We should clear off before we’re trampled.” Shiro rumbles, touching a hand to Keith’s shoulder as he guides him away, but not before flashing Lance a friendly smile and a parting wave, “Nice meeting you, Lance!” 

“Y-you too!” Lance calls after, waving back. A group of kids Lance recognizes from school cut into his line of sight as he watches his idol walking away, snapping him out of his daze. And _now_ he wants to jump up into the air and hoot and holler. He just met Shiro. **_Shiro!_** _Holy_ ** _fuck!_** _Pidge isn’t gonna believe this, oh my fuck-_

Lance rushes through the crowd of people, who are moving either out of the way or to the shoreline to watch the junior’s first heat, it takes him a second to find his area and once he does he practically Michael Jackson slides in front of Pidge where they sit in their chair beneath the umbrella with their legs crossed, scrolling on their phone, _“Pidge-you’re-never-gonna-guess-who-I-just-met!”_

Pidge starts so hard that their glasses go a bit askew, they have to scrunch their nose and readjust in their seat to look at him with wide, startled eyes, “Jesus Christ, dude, what the hell?” 

“Shiro!” Lance cries, practically bouncing up and down where he kneels before them on his knees, “I just met Shiro! _The_ Shiro!” 

Pidge blinks for a moment before cocking an eyebrow, “What? Really? Where?”

“On the shoreline!” Lance points back over his shoulder, he starts speaking dizzyingly fast as excitement courses through him, “He approached me and was all like, _‘These waves are so good today don’t you say’_ and I lost my mind! Dude, holy shit, I can’t even believe, _I’m not making this shit up!_ ” 

“Wow, get his number, too?” Veronica teases where she sits in the other chair, turning a leaf on the page of her medical textbook. 

Lance shoots her a glare and blows a raspberry before his thoughts trace back to the guy with him. His foster brother. The guy in his heat. 

_Yeah, gay thoughts, you’re on standby._ He thinks as he shakes his head a bit, _I gotta focus, get my head in the game. Crush him first, ask for his number later._ Lance shakes his head a bit, making vague, centering motions with his hands as he closes his eyes and thinks about the waves, the feel of the board beneath his feet, and the tautness of his legs when they twist in movement. _Getcha head in the game._

“There he is! Lance!” Lance perks up at the sound of his name, opening his eyes and looking up just in time to see a familiar face with shining sapphire eyes rush up to him. 

“Whoa, Allura! Hey!” Lance starts, rising to his feet and holding out his arms as she sweeps in for a tight hug. Her starlight white hair is half up, held back by a clawed clip with a seashell on it, and she’s wearing a light pink sundress that stops just about midthigh. In her arms she carries her camera bag, with the actual camera hanging around her neck, and a water bottle covered in playful stickers, which she sets in the sand once she breaks away from Lance’s arms. “What’re you doing here?” He asks with a stunned expression. 

“Supporting you, of course!” Allura replies with a brilliant smile before she turns and waves her hand behind her, “I found him, over here!”

Behind her come two more familiar figures; Coran, Allura’s godfather, a middle aged, ginger man with a poofy, curled, orange mustache the size of Lance’s hand, clad in a dad-like ensemble of a light blue polo and cargo shorts with a cooler at hand and another beach umbrella over his shoulder, and Romelle, Allura’s girlfriend. She has her blond hair up in two braids that fall on her collarbones, wearing a flowery swimsuit top and a draped, light green scarf with tassels on the end tied around her waist. As she approaches with a beaming grin that rivals that of the sun’s, Lance finds a genuine smile beginning to stretch upon his face, and warmth spreading across his features. 

In his sophomore year Lance had a huge crush on Allura, who was a senior at the time. They got to be close friends when she saw him surfing at the beach one day and asked for some pictures for the school yearbook, they still talked even after she went to college at UCLA, studying marine biology with a minor in photography because of _course_ she did, no one can take a photo like Allura can. Lance would always joke that when he hit it big, he’d want to hire her to be his social media manager; she’d always laugh and call him an idiot for thinking she’d quit her job to be a social media anything. She became a part of his, Hunk’s, and Pidge’s friend group and whenever she was home for breaks they would hang out all together, kicking around town, doing teenager things, except last summer when she studied abroad in Brazil.

Things never went anywhere with the pair relationship-wise; Lance slowly realized that he valued his friendship with Allura far more than any potential romantic relationship they could have, so when she came home from college last summer and introduced Romelle to their friend group as her girlfriend, Lance couldn’t find even a shred of jealousy in him. They are just so… _cute_ and _happy_ together, how could he not support them? Honestly, as long as Allura is happy, Lance is happy. 

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think that she’s the most beautiful woman the world has ever seen anymore. Far from it. 

“How do you do, Lance?” Coran beams at the other with a twitch of his orange mustache, setting down the umbrella in the sand so he can wrap an arm around his shoulders in an amicable hug. Him and Allura are from London originally but they moved to the US after her dad died when she was 13, and Coran became her official guardian. Her mom passed when she was born, and honestly he’s sort of always felt like Lance’s own uncle in a way; he’s eccentric and fun loving, but also reliable when you need him. 

“I’m great!” Lance proclaims, pointing a fingergun at Coran with a smirk before he whirls towards Romelle and Allura, “Guys, you’re not gonna believe who I just met!”

Allura regards him with narrowed eyes and a pensive expression for a moment before she beams, “I can’t think of anyone you’d be this excited about except for your surfing hero. What was his name? Shibi?”

 _“Shiro.”_ Lance corrects as he hops on his feet, “He talked to me first, too! I didn’t even have to go up to him! How cool is that?!” 

Pidge snorts and pushes up their glasses as they look back down at their phone, “Keep it in your pants.” 

“That must’ve been so exciting!” Romelle says with a sympathetic smile, patting Lance’s shoulder warmly, “Is he competing?”

Lance nods, folding his arms with a confident stance, “Yes he is, he told me so!”

“Ah, a little help here?” The trio look over just in time to see Coran nearly tumbling with the umbrella at hand as he tried to stab it into the ground, unsuccessfully. But luckily Veronica swoops in just in time, dropping her textbook to rise and keep him steady before helping him stick it in the ground. “Phew. Thanks, Veronica.” Coran flashes her a thankful smile as he wipes some sweat from his brow. 

There’s a loud whine as the megaphone, which Lance can hear _very_ clearly, as they’re rather close to the judge’s table where they stand, flares to life, “Men’s Longboard Group 1 to the water, Group 3 is on deck.” 

“Oh shit.” Lance says with a sudden inhale, looking over at the others with wide eyes before he waves them towards the seashore, where the grand collection of people have started to gather now that the main event has started underway, “Come on, let’s go check out the competition!”

“I’ll stay and set us up here. Don’t head out for your heat without a good luck high five!” Coran threatens with a pointed look over at Lance as Allura, Romelle, Pidge, and Veronica start making their way down to the spectator line. Lance gives him a firm salute with a crooked grin before he turns and follows after his friends. 

The first three surfers aren’t much to look at, if Lance is being perfectly honest, which is fortunate because they only have five minutes left in their heat by the time that he and his collection of supporters find a decent spot to look on, Pidge has found their way in front of Allura so they can see, as they’re only 5’1, Lance finds himself standing just over their right shoulder to watch. One of the surfers makes a pretty decent off the lip move but all in all they don’t really vary their cuts, mostly just carving, although another one of the trio likes to noseride. A short airhorn breaks the air to signal the end of the heat, Lance and the rest of the crowd cheers appropriately with enthusiastic claps as the surfers return to shore. 

Then goes out Group 3 for men’s longboards and Allura immediately sucks in breath sharply from Lance’s side. He looks over at her with a raised eyebrow and an unspoken question, she feels his gaze and meets it evenly before she lets out a huff, “I didn’t realize that _Lotor_ would be here.”

“Ugh, yeah, unfortunately.” Pidge grumbles as they shove their hands in the pockets, regarding the surfers as they glide out onto the water, “The Whole Galra posse is here with him, too.

Lance looks back out onto the water and immediately he spots him. He’s easy to see, he has this radiating energy that naturally draws the eye, and it stems from many places. Definitely from the strong jaw always held upright so he can look down his nose, the charming, half smile that could cut a cake it’s so sharp, even the way he stands demands attention, his tanned, flawless shoulders back so he stands like a Grecian hero and Lance automatically knows that, despite having never actually met the guy, he _hates_ his guts. Nothing drives him up the wall more than someone who thinks they’re hot shit and knows it, and then proceeds to treat everyone around them like dirt to be trod upon. 

The background he knows about him is pretty minimal beyond the basic digging Pidge had done on him in the past, his dad is the head of Zarkon Industries which has its fingers in just about every pocket, the family’s in the top 5 richest billionaires, the whole shabang, blah de blah, rich asses, old money. His family has vacation homes in New York City, LA, and Miami, and that’s just in the US. So you can say that Lotor’s probably never been in a position of financial difficulty, and _goddamn_ if it doesn’t show, based on his elitist… _everything_ . Lance eyes his surfboard as he rides the waves and immediately recognizes the Haydenshapes finish on the tail fin, he tries to fight the green that threatens to fight its way into his gills. _That board alone probably costs as much as my mom makes at the diner in a year,_ he thinks darkly to himself. 

Worst part about Lotor is that he isn’t stupid; he knows how to use his dad’s power and influence to generate his own, and _damn_ does he use it. With an Instagram post, a tweet, a livestream, Lotor can take down an entire business if he so wanted to, and he’s done it before; Tatiana’s was the hotspot for surfers during the ISF Festival about two years ago but after a scathing review from Lotor, that Lance heard was only granted because the servers there were fed up with his shitty attitude, the place was shut down and profitless in two months. He doesn’t need his dad’s money or position to get him anything, he’s used that boost up to craft his own place in the upper arches of society so he can stand on his own on a throne of gold. _It’s even worse that he’s model worthy_ Lance thinks begrudgingly as Group 3 starts its heat. 

Suddenly a thought occurs to him, he looks over at Allura with a raised eyebrow, “Wait a minute, how do _you_ know Lotor?” 

“Who _doesn’t_ know Lotor?” Veronica counters as she adjusts her glasses to squint at the horizon, watching the initiation; so too does Lance turn his attention to the water. Lotor’s platinum hair is long and almost silvery in the sun, which is now about halfway up hanging in the sky; his hair’s held back in a bun at the nape of his neck, making him easy to spot next to the two dark haired guys, one of whom just picked up a tubular wave. His hair color is kind of like Allura’s, except hers is authentically _completely_ white, a genetic mutation she once told him that’s along the same strain where albinoism comes from. It suits her very well, especially with her skin like cocoa, it makes her stand out. _As if her obvious beauty didn’t already do that for her_ Lance thinks idly as he regards her warmly. 

But that’s not what he was asking about. Everyone knows Lotor, yeah, sure, but the way Allura just spoke of him, the frown and pinch in her brow as she watches him sit on his board in the water, that doesn’t seem like a generalistic way to refer to someone you don’t know. But for the life of him Lance can’t figure out how the hell Allura could’ve possibly met Lotor, except maybe at a surfing heat… but they’ve always gone to those together, Lance would’ve remembered if she’d said she met the guy. 

There’s a collective noise of appreciation from the crowd and Lance finds his attention snapping back to the present, where it _should be, damnit, I need to be watching the competition and seeing what scores they get so I know where the bar’s at._ Lance forcibly bites his bottom lip to focus his attention back to the now before honing in on the surfers. 

Lotor paddles as a fresh wave forms and catches it with ease, it’s at least twice the size of him and as it begins to fully crest he leaps to his feet, standing steadily by the nose before executing a floater right as the wave crashes, ripping down the side with a perfect 360 before allowing himself to ride the tube the wave formed. Right before it crashes on him he does a tail kick up the side before whizzing into the foam with wide, perfect carves. 

This does sate the hatred he carries in his heart a bit; he can’t be _that_ mad with someone who can ride a wave _that_ good. _He’s definitely a prick, but damn can he ride a wave_ Lance thinks to himself.

“Wait a minute, Lance, you’re up in the next heat!” Lance snaps to attention when Pidge turns to him, their eyes fly wide before they clap their hands in front of his face, “Go get your fucking board!”

“Okay! Okay!” Lance cries and turns away as they start pushing on his shoulders to get him to walk faster, quickly he rushes back to his station. Coran senses his urgency once he’s there and immediately hands him his longboard, giving him a good luck high five as he straps on the leash to his ankle before stripping out of his “team shirt,” Coran catches it as Lance throws it over his shoulder with a wave and a thank you, he hurries with his board under his arm with caution to keep the board safe, but with all due haste.

When he returns to his friend group the airhorn to end the second heat has long since sounded, and the summoning call of the megaphone brings him to the front. Without any preamble his friends all give him excited waving motions, whoops, and shouts as he ducks under the rope to head to the water. “Go get ‘em, champ!” Pidge screams with their hands clasped in a cone around their mouth to project their voice, which is _completely_ unnecessary as he can still see the whites of their eyes as he makes his way to the water, it nearly deafens him. 

Now, standing away from the suffocating crowd and heading towards the jetskis on the edge of the water Lance can almost _feel_ the amount of eyes tracking him and it’s _daunting_ . He didn’t take into account that he would have literally a hundred times the audience he’s ever had watching him surf before and now he _is_ taking it into account, and he _really_ doesn’t like it. 

Lance’s feet sink into the wet sand as he makes his way into the water, sea foam laps at his ankles and he tries to focus on the sensation to drive away the nerves. _Just me and the water. Gotta focus on getting past the crashing waves so the heat can start._

“Good luck out there.” Lance nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears the voice beside him, and he looks over to see the pretty guy who was with Shiro, Keith. His longboard is a deep red wood, on the underside is the primal stamp - that all Lion’s Pride boards have - of a, surprise surprise, lion’s face on the base, a bright scarlet like flame in the burning sun’s light.

His gaze skirts Lance’s and then just beyond him, a second voice, more brazen and abrupt than Keith’s general huskiness, answers him, “I don’t need luck. But you will.” Lance blinks and meets the second person in his heat’s penetrating gaze and he finds himself balking a bit at how _intense_ he looks, his hair is side swept and salt licked, he’s wearing a surf suit with short sleeves and dark orange highlights on the undersides of his arms and a generic smooth wood board, Catch Surf brand. _Guess that’s the other guy. Fuck what was his name? I think James? John?_ Lance snaps back into focus as one of the two officials on the jetski, a guy in a black life vest and matching polo with ISF on the back, waves for him to get on the sloped back with his vehicle. 

“Uh, yeah, right back atcha!” Lance cries back conversationally right as the jetskis start up and they make their way out into the water. The water’s warm, warmer than Lance was expecting and it fills him with pleasant joy because _nothing_ is worse than ice cold seawater lapping his nipples when he’s trying to paddle. _Ngh. Sucks just to even think about._

It takes the jetski a minute to get past the swelling waves and Lance has to hang on for dear life to accommodate; he’s not used to the ride, he usually has to make his way out on his own, but such is the luxury of sanctioned competitions. When they get to the start Lance struggles to get his board right on the water, finagling himself onto it with awkward pushes from the back of the jetski and he ends up falling off anyway, plunging straight into the water. He surfaces with frustrated spurts like a pissy dolphin, with a bit of an upper body struggle he rolls onto his board. When he looks up he feels a tad better to see the other guy, James, struggling as much as he was, but that dies when he sees Keith gliding smoothly straight from jetski to board in one smooth movement. He can’t help but furrow his eyebrows a bit at that as he sits up on his board, hanging his feet in the water, _didn’t Shiro say this was his first competition? How experienced is this guy anyway?_

As the jetskis zoom away the airhorn sounds to indicate the start of the heat now that the trio have made their way to the starting positions and Lance’s focus immediately locks in on the swelling waves beneath them, looking for the perfect opening to show his stuff. James, however, wastes no time; the first wave of relative height that comes their way James starts paddling into with all his strength, Keith and Lance hang back is per etiquette as he takes his shot. James immediately starts off with a layback snap, showering him in glittering water droplets and gaining momentum to do an aerial lift, but it’s sloppy and rushed, he teeters and slides down the waves sooner than he appeared to be ready for. But, he didn’t fall. Just waved his arms a bit. 

“Pfft, I totally would’ve laughed if he fell in the water.” Lance snorts with a smirk, flashing the stranger to his right the same look with a playful wink, “I’ll laugh even harder if you do.” 

Keith doesn’t answer him, he doesn’t even look in his direction, and Lance almost immediately gets pangs of annoyance. _Wow, too cool to interact with me now, huh?_ He examines his profile for a moment. _Probably just a naturally broody guy. Naturally broody, standoffish guy. With a mullet. It didn’t look like a mullet before… but at this angle… shorter hair in the front, longer in the back means mullet… even though his bangs are pretty long, Lance could tuck them behind his ears if given the opportunity-_

Lance looks to the rise of a massive wave, sooner than the other waves that have come up until this point, and he acts on gut instinct without a second’s hesitation, snapping out of his gay thoughts. He turns and starts to paddle in the direction of the wave, as soon as his board catches on the power of the water he leaps to his feet, touching his fingertips to the front of the board to ensure his balance. Hunk’s words come to him as he steadies himself, _don’t worry about doing big tricks, just do what comes naturally. When you go by how you feel, you always do the best stuff._

 _Alright then, Hunk. This is for you. Here’s how I’m feeling._ Lance smirks to himself as he feels the movement of the current beneath the wave, pulling on his board as it begins to reach its crest behind him and carves sharply to the top before he plunges to the bottom with a kickflip, he refinds his grip back on the board in no time. He lets out a slow, controlled breath and a wild grin as the waves begins to tunnel behind him and he carves up and down to ride with it, as he reaches its end he sees an opening and he acts without thinking, he glides up into a rodeo flip before he crunches back for a closeout reentry. He slips out and overpasses the seafoam when the waves pass, over the roar of adrenaline in his ears he suddenly hears the applause from the collected crowd on the beach. He turns towards them as he slips down to a sitting position on his board, his heart suddenly clambers into his throat and suddenly he’s radiating nerves like an exposed wire. _Shit. Oh man, that’s a lot of people. Did I do good? Do they think that was good? What if I hung on too long on that aerial, will they penalize me for it? Where even are the judges?_

A tall wave nearly sends Lance capsizing on his board, pulling him back to the present moment. He sets his brow and lays on his board, paddling back out further to refind the starting position, but luckily it’s not hard to find as Keith is still there and James has rejoined him. 

As soon as Lance starts to get close another wave rises and Keith snaps like a racehorse at the shot of a gun. He paddles and rides out to the crest with it and Lance watches with intense interest, he can’t see some of his moves when he’s below the crest but he’s blown away when he suddenly rises in the air with the superman. Holding his board in his arms like the Lion King he falls back upon its gleaming surface with the grace of an angel, less than ten seconds later he’s back up in the air further down the wave in a 360 turn. _It’s almost like he has wings._

Lance has gotta admit… he’s impressed. 

When Keith returns to the fold James has set off for his second wave, but after _that_ performance Lance can’t help but eye Keith with a newfound respect. _Now I kinda wanna get to know him. Purely for competition-scanning reasons, of course._ “... So how long have you been surfing, again?”

“A year.” 

Lance blinks at him stupidly for a solid minute before he scoffs, “No, seriously.”

Keith meets his cerulean gaze evenly, tilting his head with a raised eyebrow in confusion, like his words genuinely puzzled him, “... Yeah? Seriously?” 

The respect that Lance felt for that momentary minute swells into something else, something that tastes bitter and leaves a dark blanket over his chest. “You learned how to surf in a year? And can do _that_ ?” He gestures vaguely to the area Keith once was doing those expert level aerials, Keith merely shrugs like this is nothing new, like it _was_ nothing. 

It took Lance two years just to quit falling down after a bad ride. He set aside a whole six months to work on nailing the rodeo flip and that’s the only aerial he can comfortably do without worrying he’s gonna miss the wave on his descent back down. But this guy… can do the _fucking superman_ and a _360…_ after a _single_ _year? Has he been surfing for twelve hours a day every day?_

Keith runs his hands through his hair and pushes his bangs out of his eyes as he searches for the next wave and something like licorice rests on Lance’s tongue as he shoots daggers at him. _I take it back,_ **_fuck_ ** _this guy. I don’t care how pretty he is with his hair all wet and slicked back like that, acting all aloof and broody about being so fucking good at surfing when it took me months to learn to carve, what a piece of-_

Keith takes off for his next wave as James returns, he’s panting slightly as he shakes his head like a dog but Lance couldn’t care less about him anymore. Lance has to fight from giving Keith a stink-eye as he executes another series of perfect aerial tricks. _It’s almost like he’s trying to show off, doing all those aerials so that I have to see them, too. Rubbing in how fucking naturally good he is._

 _Oh, it’s_ **_so_ ** _on._

Keith barely finishes his wave before Lance starts ravenously searching for his next one, as soon as he spots one that he vaguely likes he starts to paddle like it’s his life on the line. Once his wave starts to crest he leaps to his feet with tension pulsing beneath his fingertips on the board, his mind working a mile a minute to think of what tricks he could do to really showcase what he’s got. As soon as he’s stable he gets to work, carving the waves like Thanksgiving turkey and executing another rodeo as soon as he’s physically able to, but the landing is rougher this time, he has to do a bottom turn in order to compensate for the excess momentum. His wave ends and he has to climb the foam before he’s able to drop back down and head back to the start, dampening Lance’s spirits as he wanted to try for a switchstance or a floater. Idly he wonders if Keith saw the rodeo flip, what he thought of it, but as soon as those thoughts surface Lance stamps them into his board with a fist like it personally wronged him. _I don’t care what he thinks_ , Lance thinks angrily to himself, _I’m just trying to impress the judges. Not him. Hang what he thinks._

Keith doesn’t look at him once he makes it back to the start, the trio watch the waves in search for their next one but Lance’s mind isn’t focused, he keeps finding himself tracking back to his last wave and reevaluating his decisions - Keith is the first one off, internally Lance kicks himself for how fast his attention zeroes in on him as he goes. This time he analyzes each movement, watching what his muscles do _not because they’re nice to look at this is solely for competitive purposes_ , but honestly all it does for Lance is get him more and more frustrated with how _effortless_ Keith makes it look. 

_I’ve said it once and I know I’ll be saying it again: fuck this guy._

So it continues. Lance catches his waves, performs risky stunts, each one more sloppy than the last and it only stokes Lance’s internal ire, why can’t he just _focus_? But he does them, and half of the surfing rating is about creativity, variety, and blah, stuff like that, so it’s fine, right? As Lance finishes his final wave after trying to do an aerial 360 but ending up having to do a cutback instead the airhorn sounds and Lance’s pulse flutters when he hears the cheering from the crowd. His building frustration and heat under his collar evaporates as he slides to his board’s surface when the jetski comes to pick him up, the crowd grows closer and grows more real as Lance realizes he was on a stage. Performing for them. And he’s currently being judged based on that performance and then getting assigned his first ever rank. 

Ranks are based on an average of the waves ridden. Each judge rates each wave by a number between 1 and 10 - with two decimal points for _accuracy_ \- and then they add and average all of their individual numbers together to a consensus on the overall number for each individual wave a surfer does. These numbers are based on the creativity, combination, variety, and difficulty of moves. And, of course, the quality of their execution. The judges then lop off the largest two and the smallest two numbers, average the remaining, and then give them to the surfer as their final score. The system works so that it’s in a surfer’s best interest to catch as many waves as possible to get a good, specific average. Lance caught eight waves, leaving him with four in between numbers to make his rank.

Lance is gonna get his rank. It’s leaving him shaking in anticipation.

The jetski the officials ride to pull contestants onto after heats starts to pick up the new surfers once Lance has disembarked, when he gets back to land with sand clinging to his feet his friends welcome him with excited cheers like they’re at a football stadium. Pidge claps him on the back as they welcome him back underneath the rope and together they head back to their section for Lance to rest, reapply sunscreen, and get some water. _And a snack_ Lance hopes wistfully.

“That was wonderful, Lance, great job!” Romelle congratulates with a bright smile, which Lance returns with a tired grin. His arms feel like rubber and his lungs feel like they’re about to up and quit on him, once he’s set his longboard up on the rack he collapses in one of the two seats. 

Pidge claps their hands slowly, giving him a winning thumb’s up before they gesture over their shoulder, “Ditto. Now I’n gonna go camp by the judge’s table to get your rate!” Lance perks a bit at this as they turn on heel and head over, Coran calls after them that he’ll go with and they soon disappear into the mingling crowd. 

“What happened out there?” Lance jumps a bit in surprise when Allura faces him with a serious expression, her eyes narrowed and her voice dropped an octave, “Was it the nerves?”

Lance blinks at her stupidly for a solid beat before he cocks an eyebrow, apprehension swelling like a wave in the back of his throat that he hides with a lackadaisical smirk, “What do you mean?”

“Yeah, I noticed, too.” Veronica hops on, her hands on her hips as her gaze, shrouded in the shadow of her sunhat, lock on his, “You were kinda… all over the place. Slipping and jumbling your moves.”

Lance swallows on the lump in his throat as he crosses his arms indignantly, “What? That’s ridic-, no, nothing _happened!_ And since when have you known anything about surf stuff, Vero?”

“Since my idiot of a brother decided to get invested in it, _mongo_.” Veronica answers, following it up with a raspberry.

The questions set Lance’s mind at the opposite of ease. He looked… off? What does that mean? Is that a good thing? Something tells him that it isn’t a good thing. _But Veronica and Allura aren’t exactly surf experts, so I’m sure I’ll be fine._ Lance assures himself, taking a steeling breath as he watches the space where Pidge and Coran had disappeared to. _I’m sure I’ll be fine. Those moves were crazy, I was doing stuff I haven’t even been practicing for, if that’s not ‘daring and creative’ then what is? That’ll definitely get me some points-_

“My, do my eyes deceive me? Allura! How wonderful to see you!” The collected party turns at the sound of the unfamiliar voice and Lance pauses where he sits reclined in the chair, pushing his wet and wild hair to slick back. 

Lotor stands proudly before them, his shoulders back and his arms hanging at his sides and something about Lance’s position sitting close to the sand makes him look impossibly tall, larger than life; uncomfortable with this Lance stands up but he can’t shake that feeling even now as he’s mostly eye level with him. A stray strand of blond hangs in his eyes, a penetrating, deep blue that’s almost black and cuts into the person he regards like an exceptionally sharp knife. Behind him are four girls that Lance has never met before, but he recognizes three of them from his Twitter page; they’re a part of his team. He recognizes the pair of girlfriends immediately, Ella and Zethra; Ella has light brown hair tied in a high pony tail and pale blue eyes, she’s a little shorter than Lance, her eyes come to his nose. And then there’s Zethra, who could be 6’3 or 6’4 easily with rippling muscles beneath a tank top with ripped off sleeves, sporting an undercut with the hair on top of her head dyed a dark purple, and of course a deep set scowl on her face that matches the dark earth of her hard gaze. She could probably break Lance in half if she wanted to, he can’t imagine how she’s able to glide on a surfboard with very much ease considering how large her frame is. 

The other girl he recognizes as a part of the team has a short pixie cut, black as night and dark green eyes like the forest. She’s quieter than the others, and appear in their team posts less often than the others but if he remembers her performance at the ISF last year correctly then he’s positive that her skills are nothing to scoff at. What was her name… _Oh right,_ Alexa. Lance remembers that because he made a joke out of it for about a month, _‘Alexa, google elitism’._ The final girl is tall and spindly, kind of like how Lance is in frame, with medium length, dirty blond hair and soft brown eyes. Like Zethra she is not in a surf suit, rather she’s in leggings and a long sleeved, lilac blouse with see-through, loose arms. _Lotor’s groupies, squad, whatever I guess._ Lance thinks idly to himself as he scans each of them individually. 

Allura immediately flushes, her arms cross as she lifts her head up high to regard the taller man with a gaze like cut sapphires, “Yes, hello. Can I help you?”

Lotor smiles graciously, his gaze dropping a little in what can best be described as a lowkey nod of greeting before he continues with voice like honey, “I’m surprised to see you here. I did not think that you were savvy in the surfing world.” 

“I’m here to support my friend, Lance.” Allura states curtly as she turns to regard the blue eyed surfer in question, when he meets her gaze he can see the warning light illuminated in her pupils. A thousand questions run through Lance’s head all at once. _Wait a minute, Allura knows Lotor? Like, enough that he recognizes her and approaches her on a crowded beach with his four friends? How the hell…?_

Lotor’s gaze slides to Lance and he has to fight not to balk at the intensity of it. It’s not purposefully so, Lance thinks, it looks like a natural thing, suiting to his guise, but that doesn’t make it any less daunting. Lotor examines Lance with a brief sweep before he raises a polite eyebrow, “I see. You were with the juniors, I presume?” 

Lance immediately bristles, narrowing his eyes at Lotor as he spits back a little harsher than he means to, “No, I just went. Group 5.” 

Lotor merely blinks like Lance’s defensive stance is as interesting as a chemistry textbook. “Of course, my apologies.” He replies charismatically but with an offhanded expression as his gaze returns to Allura, “I’m having a little get together at the Hilton down by the boardwalk this evening to celebrate the kickoff of the ISF Festival. You are more than welcome to join.” His gaze slides to Lance beside her before he looks to Romelle, who empathetic as ever sensed the tension radiating from Allura’s shoulders and immediately slid herself close to her side with a shrouded gaze on the blond before her. Lotor gives her a once over only briefly, it’s so fast that Lance’s could’ve blinked and missed it before he smiles with sugar laced in his tone, “You may even bring your little friends, if you want.”

“It’s quite alright, but thank you.” Allura replies sternly, like she’s a teacher having to tell a student to shut up for the tenth time despite the politeness of her words. Lance finds his gaze flickering between Allura’s and Lotor’s as they stare off, and internally he finds himself channeling Gordon Ramsey: _‘what the fuck is going on?’_

“Aww, I’m sorry to hear that you’re still allergic to fun.” Ella suddenly pipes up from behind Lotor, with a sunshine-like smile and dual dimples fully brandished she rests her chin on Lotor’s shoulder and regards Allura with a playful gaze that has a hint of harsh scrutiny within them. Zethra by far is the most physically intimidating one here, but Lotor’s gaze like diamond swords and Ella’s smile like sweet red wine laced with poison has Lance regarding them with the most apprehension. 

The girl behind him, the one without the surf suit, raises her hands and makes sharp gestures while making eye contact with the other girl next to her, Alexa; Lance realizes after a second that she’s communicating via ASL. Alexa watches her hands with crossed her arms over her long sleeved surf suit with purple highlights, after a moment she states with a matter of fact tone, “‘If she don’t want to go then she doesn’t want to go. Let’s get out of here.’” 

Looking at this gang, Lance is finding it difficult to determine how he’s feeling towards them. He’s seen so much about them on social media... well, except for the one girl he’d never seen before… but now, meeting them, they’re much more… real, standing in front of him. A reality that makes it hard to sort them into a black and white category. 

“Good riddance.” The big one, Zethra, says with her arms like steel beams over her chest, “No one likes lightweights at parties anyway.” 

_Okay,_ Lance thinks with his gaze flickering across each person, _I can at least decide whether or not I like them, that’s a good start._ Ella is far too tricky looking to be good, she looks like she could figure out three hundred different ways to take someone down without breaking a sweat or a rule. Lance is definitely not a fan of Zethra, she doesn’t seem friendly at all, _that was easy_ . Lotor is just… sneaky. It’s hard to associate this suave guy in front of Lance with all the shitty shit he’s has heard about him, and the fact that that’s the case makes him all the more cautious. He doesn’t know enough about the other two to draw any conclusions yet. _Yet._

Lance narrows his eyes as Lotor doesn’t even blink away from his staredown with Allura, he merely waves a hand behind him to shut his posse up before he speaks again, “Do as you wish. The invitation stands should you wish to seize it.” With that Lotor reaches down and takes Allura’s hand, and shocking all in the vicinity he presses a kiss to her knuckles before he lets it drop. Backtracking with smooth strides he gives her another charming smile before he and his quartet of groupies leave the group’s section and disappear into the crowd of surfers gaggled in the area. 

Lance smacks his lips after the awkward beats of silence, looking over at Allura with an owlish gaze, “... So…”

Veronica cuts in where she stands on his other side, her hat abandoned on the chair behind her, her glasses on her head, and her sunglasses folded and hanging from her crop top hem, “-What the fuck was that?”

Lance quickly tacks on after this with wide eyes, his thoughts starting back up now that Veronica has sparked his eternally running brain, “Yeah, how the heck do you know Lotor like… that?”

Allura lets out a tired sigh, her gaze flickers only momentarily at Lance and Veronica before she faces Romelle beside her. Romelle hasn’t spoken, nor has her expression changed, but she doesn’t look betrayed or upset, merely confused. Allura answers Veronica and Lance’s question while looking at and speaking to her, “Um… we dated for a while back in freshman year.”

Lance gasps, a hand hovering over his mouth as he looks on with shock and a bit of betrayal. “Really? You dated _him?!_ ” When Allura glances over at him with a tired gaze Lance quickly backtracks with a sheepish smile, “He’s just… doesn’t seem like your type…?” 

“He’s not.” Allura confirms with a firm set in her brow and a dark light in her sapphire gaze, “But I didn’t realize it until too late; he’s a downright git. I broke up with him before spring break that year.”

Veronica purses her lips, her arms slightly crossed as she cautiously examines Romelle’s even expression, “And it doesn’t look like he’s over you.”

Romelle breaks into a warming smile, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend’s waist as she presses a loving kiss to her cheek, “Of course he isn’t. I mean, have you seen you? What a catch.” She teases Allura with a gentle boop on the nose, and despite the persisting discomfort in Allura’s eyes her shoulders relax and her expression softens. Lance has a second of heart palpitations at the sight. _That’s just too goddamn sweet. What the heck. Get you a partner who looks at you the way that Romelle looks at Allura_ , Lance thinks to himself with a fond smile.

“So that means no party at douche-central, right?” Lance smirks with a coy raise in an eyebrow, rewarding him a playful glare and ruffle of hair from Veronica. 

“Definitely not.” Allura replies with a shake of her head, letting out another soft breath to compose herself before she turns to the group, her hand winding and lacing into Romelle’s, “I apologize for putting you all in that ah… uncomfortable situation.”

“Don’t apologize.” Veronica says with a crooked grin, moving to sit back in her claimed chair underneath the umbrella and picking up her textbook where she laid it spine up in the sand, “I thrive off the drama. Besides, I think it was worth it to see that girl with him. The one with the short hair.” Veronica makes a cupping gesture by her jawline before she lets out a dreamy sigh, “I love me a beautiful, bilingual girl.” 

Lance immediately snorts derisively as he rests his hands on his waist, “Who, Alexa? Damnit, you useless lesbian.” He pauses, tilting his head to the side as he taps his lips thoughtfully, “... So wait, does knowing ASL technically count as a second language? It wouldn’t, right? I mean, it’s still _English,_ just spoken with your _hands_ …”

Romelle suddenly perks up from Allura’s side, pointing past Lance’s shoulder with a bounce on her heels, “Look, here comes Pidge and Coran!” 

Lance whirls around with a sudden rush of adrenaline, any and all thoughts he had die. Immediately his gaze hones in on his small friend and he bounds over the cooler to their side and that’s when he sees the piece of paper in their hand, about the size of an index card. “Heck yeah, Pidge! So, come on, give it to me, what’s the verdict?” He holds out a hand and snatches the card from them and it’s only then that he sees their expression; they’re frowning slightly, looking downcast and… disappointed. 

Lance’s heart practically stops in his throat as he slowly sinks his gaze to the card, Pidge’s voice is consoling and gentle, “Well… For your first competition… it’s not the _worst_ score you could’ve gotten.”

Lance doesn’t really hear them. All he can see is the number on the bottom right hand corner. _6.00 even._

_6.00 out of 10._ Just barely past the tier of an average ride. 

Lance’s shoulders drop with his heart down to his knees, but before he can begin to wallow in self pity Pidge grabs both of his shoulders and forces his gaze back down to them, their hazel eyes gleam gold in the growing-to-be afternoon sun as they regard him seriously, “Hey, Lance, don’t let this bog you down, okay? This was your first ride in a real competition _ever_ , be gentle with yourself, you did great. And this _is_ a “good ride” number, in a qualifying competition you’d still be likely to move on to the next heat!”

Over his shoulder he feels his friends gazes on the card in his hand, wordlessly he hands it off to the closest person, who happens to be Veronica. He doesn’t want to look at it anymore. _6.00 even._ After a moment for the information to sink into the collective Veronica nods and rests a hand over Pidge’s on his shoulder, “ _Sí, hermanito,_ and don’t forget that you’ve still got the shortboard heat later. This isn’t the make all-break all.” 

Lance lets out a slow breath through his nose, his eyebrows furrowing right as they hear the sound of the airhorn signaling the end of another heat, followed by the megaphone announcer, “Men’s Shortboard Group 9 to the water.” 

Romelle taps on his shoulder beside him, when Lance turns to meet her bright, pale green gaze she taps the ISF brochure in her hand, “Group 9, isn’t that the one with the surfer you like? Shiro?”

Pidge starts at this, they meet Romelle’s gaze and some unspoken agreement comes between them as they grasp Lance’s wrists, “Yeah, come on, let’s go watch his heat. You know you wanna watch your idol in liveaction, right?”

Although the stone of failure rests heavy on Lance’s chest, the engulfing support from his friends around him does mitigate that feeling enough to bring a smile to his face. And while he won’t admit it, the prospect of seeing Shiro surfing, in real time, excites him far more than is probably normal. 

“Heck yeah, let’s go!” Lance proclaims, slapping on a happy go lucky attitude that’s only mostly faked as he wraps his arms around Romelle and Allura’s shoulders and drags them towards the spectator line on the shore. _Pidge is right,_ Lance thinks to himself as they weave through the crowd of people moving to the sands with them, _though I better not say it to their face. Don’t need to boost their massive ego. But it’s true, it’s my first competitive heat. Now I can be one of those zero to hero kind of surfer stories, those are crazy popular, right? And 6.00 isn’t a_ **_terrible_ ** _number, it is in that “Great Ride” zone in the official rules…_

But it’s on the bottom end of that spectrum. Literally, it’s only 0.10 away from being in the “Average Ride” section. And Lance doesn’t want to be 0.10 away from average, he _needs_ to be higher up, hitting 7.50’s at the very least… 

They get to the shoreline and Lance immediately spots Shiro, he and the two other surfers in his group have just made it to their starting position right as the airhorn goes off to signal the start. One of the two takes the first wave, Lance watches their form and finds himself critiquing, _could’ve landed that a little smoother… with a little more of a carve you could’ve gotten more air on that 360…_

However as soon as Shiro moves Lance’s attention immediately locks on him, excitement etched into his veins. Shiro paddles into the wave and he can immediately tell this one’s gonna be a tubular, a big one too, and it makes him all the more excited to see what Shiro can do with it. 

He starts off simple, a few carves and double backs to get his momentum building before he starts to climb, skidding on the crest of the unbroken wave before the crashing section catches up to him. He teases the crowd with the beginnings of a snap before he suddenly executes a flawless roundhouse cutback, it makes Lance literally sigh because it’s so _fucking beautiful_ to see. Shiro is obviously in his element, this is what he was _born_ to do and it’s completely apparent to him, and to everyone on the beach watching him. Shiro comes down from the wave again and as it begins to cave over him he rides with it, it’s like the ocean is pushing him through, carrying him like Poseidon riding a hippocampi board through the waves. With the end of the wave Shiro does a double back before he sharply rises, leaping into the air with a sushi roll, which is a combo of the rodeo and the superman and Lance cheers louder than anyone else in the crowd at the sight because _goddamn._

_Maybe someday I’ll be able to ride like that._

Shiro comes down from his victorious wave, turning to the shoreline with his right fist pumped in the air, Lance can barely hear his rallying cry that the crowd immediately responds with in kind, Lance joins in as enthusiastically as the rest. 

As Shiro lays down on his board and starts paddling back towards the start with long armed strokes, Lance starts when he sees the sudden shadow in the water to his right. Quickly he mentally waves it off, _just the shadow of a cloud, or a part of a swell…_

Except their isn’t a cloud in sight. 

By the time the dorsal fin comes into view it’s already too late, immediate fear strikes through Lance’s veins and his voice joins a chorus of at least 4 to 5 others on the beach as they scream in unison, _“SHARK!”_

Shiro looks up as he goes over the beginnings of a wave and with a sudden thrash there’s a splurge of seafoam, right as the wave starts to crest, blocking the coast’s line of sight. As soon as the wave has run its course Lance claps a hand over his mouth when he sees the horrible splashing of seafoam beside an empty surfboard. 

The ISF officials in the water are on the scene immediately, the crowd breaks out in cries of shock and horror, calling for an ambulance as one of the pair on the jetski produces a long pole, made for this grim purpose, and strikes into the water. The other on the jetski turns around back, and with the sudden pole jab into the water the seafoam and thrashing ceases, the dark form practically vanishing from sight. A desperate hand with a dark haired head thrusts from the water which the official quickly grabs, Lance lets out a small sigh of relief as they yank Shiro onto the jetski; the other two jetskis already have the other two surfers safely out of the water, and all three are now heading back to the shore. 

The ambulance is fired to life and driven just in front of where Lance stands with his group of petrified friends, whirling and looking at one another, wondering what the _fuck_ are they supposed to do. It feels wrong to just look on and do nothing, but if they were to rush forward what would they do? Lance knows the answer is ‘get in the way of the ISF officials getting the surfers safely to shore’. The rest of the crowd draws the same consensus, as everyone turns to look at one another with wide, shocked eyes but no one goes under the rope. 

Except for one person in a full body surf suit with red accents and wild, drying black hair; Keith leaps over them without a second’s hesitation. One of the officials standing at the ropes on the far side, who was waving their hands and seemingly was making sure the spectators stayed back, turns to him and immediately barks, “Hey!” 

Keith doesn’t even pause as the jetski comes to shore, shouting frantically, _“Shiro!”_ He sprints to the back of the ambulance, just out of Lance’s line of sight as the jetski gets to land, and he finally gets his first good look at Shiro. 

The back of the jetski is slick in blood, and that’s all Lance needs to see to grab onto Pidge’s hand to his left and Veronica’s arm to his right. The officials swarm around him, he can’t see his face but he can hear his cries of pain, where he’s carried Lance can see blood dripping into the sand at an alarming rate, left like rose petals to bake in the afternoon California sun. Then, through the gaps between the ISF officials, Lance can see the cause. His hand clenches tighter on Veronica’s arm and his hand grasping Pidge’s snaps to cover his mouth instead when he sees the stump where his right arm used to be. Gone. Nothing left. 

_“Oh my God.”_ Allura whispers next to him, tears beginning to well in her eyes as the ambulance doors fling open, there’s loud, incoherent shouting for a moment before Lance can hear _“I’m his brother, you’re letting me in.”_ over the din of the crowd’s growing fear. Within a second the doors slam shut and the ambulance peels off, leaving the crowd staring, horrified, at the droplets of baking blood that remain in the sand. 

…

It’s a blur afterward. Of course ISF immediately announced the cancellation of the event, promises for refunds and all, but Lance could not care less. How could he after seeing… _that?_

Shark attacks are a one in a million thing. He heard that a person is more likely to win the lottery than get attacked by a shark, but he just… _watched_ it happen. In real time. Right before his eyes. 

Lance has never seen a shark while in the water before. He’s seen dolphins, which, fun fact, surfing with dolphins is fucking _awesome…_ but never a shark. That dorsal fin was the first wild shark he’d ever truly laid eyes upon in the flesh. And now he’s sitting on the hood of Pidge’s car as he’s on the phone with his mom, who called about ten minutes after the attack to check on him after hearing about the attack, frantically speaking in rapid fire Spanglish, _“I-heard-there-was-a-shark-attack-are-you-alright-you-better-be-alright-or-I-swear-on-your-grandfather’s-grave-that-you’ll-never-even-breathe-on-the-ocean-again-”_

It took him a few minutes to calm her down enough to hang up, promising to be home as soon as the horrific traffic of the mass outflow of people settles enough for them to escape. Lance’s goodbyes with Allura, Coran, and Romelle are small and curt, but the last thing that they do before they part ways is share one large group hug, each person clinging to the collective so tightly that air is a scarce resource. Lance ultimately feels a little better, but there’s still a huge stone in his stomach that’s covering his entire body in lukewarm discomfort, like a half melted ice cube in a glass of water dumped on him.

Hunk calls him as he, Pidge, and Veronica are driving back to the McClain house, expressing the same terror as his mom. Lance is the one who breaks the news to him, and the pain of the moment stretches to the both of them, like an arrow pierced through their call connection.

“Dude… I’m so sorry.” Hunk mutters in a soft voice, Lance finds he’s struggling a bit to breathe, “That must’ve been so horrible.” 

“Yeah, it… kinda was.” Lance mutters in a soft voice. After a moment he clears his throat, seeking to bring some minute solace to his friend he rumbles in a half hearted, joking tone, “Makes you glad you missed it, huh?”

Hunk lets out a dry laugh, mostly for Lance’s benefit, before the line goes quiet. “Tomorrow I’ll bring you some of my world famous brownies.” Hunk promises, but Lance doesn’t answer. Even though he loves Hunk’s brownies. 

“He’s gonna be okay, Lance.” Hunk murmurs softly in a gentle giant tone. 

“... I know.” Lance replies with a soft sigh, “If anyone can pull through losing their arm like that, it’s Shiro.” 

“Exactly.” There’s silence for a while before Hunk tells him he has to go, his sister is crying; they say their goodbyes before the line goes dead. 

Pidge drops them off back at home, their eyes are locked on the windshield with their hands on the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip. Lance, noticing this, reaches up and clasps their shoulder, rubbing his thumb across the surface of their shirt as he murmurs, “I’m sorry about dragging you out today.” 

Pidge mutely shakes their head, after a moment of silence they clear their throat and turn to meet Lance’s gaze in the rearview mirror, “Don’t be sorry. It isn’t your fault, not in the slightest… I’ll be okay.” They say finally after a moment, taking a settling breath as they jut their chin towards the doors, “Now go on, get out of here. I bet your mom’s worried sick.” 

“Alright.” Lance pats them on the shoulder one last time with a meaningful squeeze and look that they share before he gets out of the car. Him and Veronica get his boards off of the roof and set them down outside the shed in the back yard before returning for the rest of their stuff, finally waving goodbye when Pidge drives off. Veronica wraps an arm around his shoulder as they turn to head inside, touching her forehead to his temple in a half kiss as they walk towards the door together and that’s all the assurance that they needed from each other. Best they could say with words beyond words.

His mom gives him and Veronica a fierce hug as soon as they walk inside. Kisses their heads. Sits them down for lunch. Lance isn’t there mentally. He’s not anywhere, frankly. He’s just aware of his heartbeat in his ears and his pulse in his fingertips. 

The day goes by. June and Jacob are less insufferable than usual, joining Lance and Veronica to watch some mindless TV together and mock the celebrity personalities they find on the cable networks, it’s a welcome distraction. Lance checks his phone for updates from local news about what Shiro’s condition is, because of _course_ they caught wind of what happened, _Local Surfing Champion in Critical Condition after Vicious Shark Attack During the ISF Opening._ At 3:24 he reads an update that Shiro’s condition is stable, though he lost a lot of blood. And his… arm. _“It’s unlikely that the surfing legend will be able to compete after such devasting injuries. It’s going to be a somber evening on Hermosa Beach tonight.”_

Lance closes his phone and doesn’t look at it again.

Night falls and the McClains have family dinner. Lance’s dad doesn’t mention the surfing competition, but he does tell him he’s sorry to hear about what happened to Shiro. Lance thanks him and asks to be excused to go to bed early, but his mom asks him to take out the trash out back first. So he does. 

In the dark shadows of the night, the stars above are clear and twinkle like reflections from a crystal. Lance finds himself staring at them for a long time, marveling in the cosmic nothingness and everythingness that stretches beyond him before he remembers his duty and dumps the trash into the backyard bin. That’s when he sees his boards, still leaning on the side of the shed where he and Veronica haphazardly dumped them earlier. Usually he’s meticulous about storing them, immediately they get a wax and polish before they go on the wall to keep them pristine, but not today. Everything changed today. 

Lance touches the glossy surface of his longboard, his gaze growing distant as the day’s events rewash over him, lazy like the laps of seafoam on his toes. 6.00 even. Shiro. 

Lance has never really considered himself a religious person. His mom and dad are, as is the case with almost all Hispanic families, but he’s always kind of felt disconnected from the church, and consequently his relationship with God, but tonight… He looks at the board, completely dried out now after baking in the Cali sun, and wonders if this was some sort of divine sign. His first competition he gets the 6.00 even and his hero, Shiro… Shiro won’t ever be able to surf again. 

He knows it’s not _really_ his fault, no, that’s stupid. But something like survivor’s guilt rests heavy on his Adam’s apple as he slowly lets his hand drop from where it rested on his board. 

_Maybe this is a sign that dad was right,_ Lance thinks to himself with a cold chill in his blood. _Who was I kidding, thinking I could make it in the big leagues. Getting a 6.00 even. I’d cracked under pressure is what happened, I saw the crowds, I saw the competition, and I cracked like concrete that sat too long in the sun. Then Shiro lost his arm. After we bonded over our excitement to be at the competition, to participate in the heats._

_Maybe this is a sign that being a world champion surfer isn’t actually what I’m supposed to do._

_But if not that… then what? What_ **_am_ ** _I supposed to do?_

_Who am I?_

Lance stares at his pair of boards for a long, long time. Slowly he picks them up, one under each arm, and takes them inside the shed. He doesn’t wax them. He doesn’t polish them. He sets them on their stand and then moves that stand to the back of the shed and out of the way. Almost out of sight except for the tops that peek over a stack of plywood. Then he walks outside, taking one last look at the interior of the shed before he closes the doors and heads back inside the house. 


	2. Wade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been two years since the accident at the ISF Opener, and Lance still finds himself haunted by the shadows of doubt cast from the eclipse the event caused. He's had at least 5 existential crises in that time, questioning what he wants to do with his life with surfing out of the picture, a barrier that he placed himself as the 6.00 ghosts the back of his neck with every thought of returning...  
> But he can't stay away from the water forever.  
> *Warning: brief mention of alcohol use near the end*

Lance has honestly had his fill of retail and customer based services. If he never heard the phrase  _ “Can I speak with your manager”  _ again, honestly, it would be too soon. 

It’s not that he hates his job at the surf shop, but it’s a job. He goes there to make some bread and then he goes home to his apartment he’s splitting rent with Veronica and Allura, but everytime he does he is either irritated or beat, or both. But bright side is he’s coming home to a rather nice suite with his sister and one of his best friends as company as opposed to a lonely, run down apartment. 

If he had told himself when he was a sophomore in high school that he would be living with Allura by the time he was 20, he would’ve been absolutely ecstatic, except this is not in the way he would have been excited about, mostly because now his romantic feelings have quelled quite a lot. No, now it’s for financial reasons; Veronica and Allura decided to live together about 6 months ago and collectively they’re making some serious bank, but almost all of their excess funds are going towards paying off their college debts. So when Lance asked for a place to stay to get out of his parents house, they agreed so long as he helped contribute to the rent and basic living, like food and stuff. Lance is more than happy to, as without them he wouldn’t have been able to afford an apartment, especially not one right on the beachfront, overlooking the Pacific. 

Though it does make Lance’s heart wedge in his throat to look at.

He didn’t  _ have _ to move out of his parent’s place, but his dad’s expectant stare and his mom’s pestering, trying to be  _ helpful, “I saw a secretary position open up at the law firm uptown, accepting all kinds of applicants!”  _ … It drove him crazy. He had to get out, just to escape the pinning feeling, the persisting feeling of failure that cloaked him every time he was home. He stayed out late, doing nothing important, just trying to keep himself out of the house so they don’t see him there, festering. 

He’d applied to UCLA, late admission. Got denied. They didn’t like that he’d applied late, he thinks. They must’ve smelled the failure on him, their admission officer probably looked at his application and said  _ ‘Oh, couldn’t fulfill some dream of yours, huh? And where does that take you? Back to me.’  _ before stamping that motherfucker with a big, fat, red  _ deny.  _ Everytime Lance thinks about it he gets red in the face.  _ Which is fine, really, who even needs college, anyway? People can be successful with high school diplomas, look at Steve Jobs! Or… It is Steve Jobs, right? Or is it Bill Gates? Or both?  _

Doesn’t matter, because Lance isn’t letting it get to him. But admittedly… the last two years have been lonely. Like,  _ really  _ lonely. Pidge and Hunk are halfway through college now, Pidge has already decided that they are getting a Masters in Computer Science, and being six and a half hours away at Stanford Lance only ever saw them during their winter, spring, and summer breaks. Hunk came home on the weekends, thanks to UCLA being only a half hour away from Hermosa, and it was just like normal when he was around; each Friday afternoon at 3pm Lance would make sure he would have something fun planned for when Hunk would come after his last class. Lance helped him study for finals, gave him advice when faced with struggles, especially when he started talking about this girl, Shay, in his Anthropology class. Lance expects him to say they’ve finally started going out any day now, how he goes on about her,  _ her eyes are so pretty Lance, I could stare at them all day. And she’s so funny, too, like this one time- _

Then Hunk texted the group chat a month or two before spring break that he had decided to go to culinary school, specifically the San Diego Culinary Institute. Everyone was stoked, including Lance; he truly is genuinely happy for him, but a small, nagging, selfish part of him worms with anxiety. He’s moving on, too. This fall, he won’t have Hunk’s weekend visits, now he will only get to see him as often as he sees Pidge, which feels like  _ so little  _ compared to how much they used to hang out before college. 

Luckily for him, Veronica finished nursing school and Allura just graduated with a BA in Marine Biology from UCLA, and now that Lance is living with them his loneliness has been curved enough that it’s no longer appropriate to bring up in conversation. Though it never really was. Like Lance would have done so anyway. 

Lance hates the feeling, this… neediness. He is genuinely happy for his friends moving along with their lives, going on to do big and important things, things that matter… But Lance has been like stagnant water caught on a tarp, attracting mosquitos. He’s gotten nothing but a decline letter from UCLA, a just above-minimum-wage job at the surf shop on the beach, and disappointed looks from his parents at his  _ nothingness _ . He doesn’t think it would be so unbearable if he wasn’t watching his friends go and do what he  _ should’ve  _ been doing, going to college, getting that higher education like everyone else… then they will be like Allura and Veronica, getting wicked awesome jobs that satisfy everything they’ve ever wanted. It’s what they deserve… Lance just wishes he could join them. But it’s not like he has any major in mind that the decline is holding him back from. Honestly, Lance would have no idea what to study for in college, except maybe writing, but like  _ that’s  _ any better than what he’s doing now.

He spent his whole time in middle school and high school dreaming about surfing, but ever since the competition when Shiro lost his arm in that shark attack Lance hasn’t gone back in the water. Surprisingly, Lance isn’t  _ scared  _ of the water after what he witnessed, it just… it feels wrong. Like he’d be passing on sacred ground that isn’t meant for him anymore, like he was given an eviction notice. 

But as the years went on, the next summer passes. Lance watches the ISF festival on TV rather than rushing to the beach to see it himself, and it was that following fall that Lance’s skin started to itch… dehydrated, ashy. And then now, with the turn of April into May coming up on his second summer since the incident, knowing that the ISF Festival is coming back soon, that professional surfers are already returning to start training in the familiar waters, Lance realizes just how  _ badly  _ he misses surfing. 

It’s almost enough to overcome that wrong feeling that climbs in his throat when he looks out over the ocean waters as he does now, sitting out on the back porch of his shared apartment with his work shirt off and hanging on the rail to the left. He finds himself sitting here, staring at the water, listening to the pounding waves, a roar that begins to match the rush of blood in his head, more and more with each passing day as the days grow warmer. It doesn’t get  _ cold _ , here, not in southern Cali, but it’s more like an ethereal sensation, it goes beyond simple temperature changes, it’s more than that, it’s… it’s like the air becomes saturated by the ocean waves and the seafoam, everything smells like the sands and sea-salt clings to Lance’s lips no matter where he is, what he’s doing, but  _ especially  _ when he’s on the beach, in the sand, at the surf shop. It’s one of those on-the-water shops for surfers to rent their boards, Lance went there and sank his allowance all through highschool up until his parents invested in his own boards. Now, working there, with the way he’s positioned inside it he can’t see the water, he can only hear it; it’s like he’s at a concert but he can’t see the stage. 

It’s not the worst job, the only bad part Lance doesn’t like is really just the shitty tourists who treat him either with contempt, annoyance, or like he was born yesterday, calling a shortboard a longboard and obviously having no fucking clue what they’re talking about. Admittedly Lance is a little more sensitive about that because he  _ does  _ know what he’s talking about,  _ damnit _ … 

His favorite part is at the end of the shift, when he polishes and cleans the boards before locking the place up. It’s calming, methodical, he can see the initial state and then he works until he can see the final result in his hands, it’s instantly gratifying. Still manual labor, though, as Lance’s arms are aching where he hangs them spread eagled over the arms of his lawn chair. 

He hears the sliding door behind him as he stares, spaced out, over the railing. “How long have you been home?” 

Lance briefly glances over his shoulder at Allura before he shrugs, turning his gaze back to the water. The sun is setting, burning the ocean with golden light like the gilded walkway to heaven, it’s part of the reason why Lance is out here because the view is so breathtaking. The sun is definitely lower in the sky than it was when he sat down, though. “What time is it?” He asks with a muted tone.

“Half past eight.” Allura moves to sit in the lawnchair beside him, crossing her darkened ankles and propping them up on the railing. The chairs were a house warming gift from Hunk’s parents, who are from the outside of Honolulu and moved to Hermosa when Lance and Hunk were ten, and although they’re relatively cheap, bought from a Dick’s Sporting Goods or something, for a trio of millennials it’s practically high class to have on a suite patio overlooking the Pacific. 

“Hmm. Guess about two hour-ish, then.” Lance replies as an afterthought, even though it was  _ definitely  _ over two hours, as his gaze flickers over to Allura beside him. She’s still in her work clothes, a smart, soft white button down and the designated “lab day” slacks; dress slacks, but it isn’t devastating if chemicals were to spill on them from her work in the labs at the local aquarium. She’s studying the animal physiologies and habitats to best promote their health, or at least that’s what Lance has been led to believe. Truth be told he has no fucking clue, but she works in a lab occasionally, that he does know, and that she has designated slacks for the occasion. 

Allura feels him looking so she turns to face him, her elbows resting on the lawnchair arms. Her silver hair is in a lazy ponytail now that she’s home, Lance idly thinks to himself how unfair it is that she can so effortlessly look so beautiful as she suddenly speaks, “When are you going to give in?”

Lance blinks at her once, twice, before furrowing his eyebrows, “... What?”

“I asked you, when are you going to give in and go down there, already?” Allura looks forward and fixes her sapphire gaze, like the sky caught between her pupils, past the railing and out at the ocean. 

Lance raises an eyebrow at her incredulously and snorts, slumping in his seat further as his legs splay out before him, “I was just down there all day!”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Allura huffs in a no nonsense tone, pulling Lance’s soft, sea hued gaze firmly back to hers. She drags her fingertips along the canvas hanging on the arms of her chair idly, once her gaze digs deep into Lance’s soul and makes a home there she murmurs in a softer voice, “I can tell it’s killing you to stay away from the water. Isn’t it?”

Lance huffs a bit and crosses his arms, “No! Why would it?” He proclaims this with surprising authenticity despite the kernel of stone at the back of his throat.

“Then why have I found you sleeping out here before?” Allura counters with a no nonsense glare. 

Lance meets her gaze fully in challenge, “I was tired.”

Allura cocks an eyebrow at him, “Once or twice yes, even three or four times, but it’s turning into at least a weekly thing with you, now.” Lance lets out a frustrated huff, turning his head to the side so he doesn’t have to meet her frustratingly observant gaze. She continues, albeit in a gentler tone, “Have you thought about talking to someone?”

“Yeah.” Lance replies stoically.  _ Of course  _ he had to go see a therapist after what happened at the beach, how could he not? No one is the same after witnessing someone getting their arm… bitten off. Lance’s shoulder aches just at the thought, the memory of it. Dr. Thace had told him that it was normal not to return to the ocean because of what happened, when he described the feeling of intrusion he told him that it may be that way because it was a place of joy for him, and now it feels spoiled because of his… ‘below satisfactory performance’ in junction with Shiro’s attack. He told him in their last session, the October after it all went down which was basically when Lance’s money ran out, that his next step is to find a new memory to sink into the waves that leaves a bigger impression than what happened… to fill the water with something different, disperse the blood and make room for the kool aid packet. 

“I just…” Lance purses his lips as he furrows his eyebrows in preparation, pulling his arms into his lap as he speaks, “I know I can’t stay out of the water forever. I can kinda…  _ feel  _ it… calling to me, you know? When the waves crash, it’s like… constantly buzzing in my ear…” Lance’s gaze stops and settles on his lap, but finds his voice dies with him there, unsure of what else to say. 

“Then why don’t you answer it?” Allura’s voice is soft and gentle, probing yet also respectful, Lance can feel her gaze on his profile as he regards the crashing sea. The sun is almost fully beneath its surface, now, the ripple of the constant currents are scarlet and a deep blackened blue, the sky above is growing darker with dusk and the horizon is a trail of gold and a splash of crimson at the base of the waterline, spinning far into the distance. 

“I’m scared to.” Lance replies after a moment, his eyebrows are furrowed but his words surprisingly don’t lodge in his throat as he tries to speak them, rather they slip out easily, like a fish from a stream, “It’s just that… I don’t want to surf for fun. I want to be the best, and I was not the best at that competition. Hell,  _ I sucked _ , Allura, I straight up  _ sucked  _ that day _. _ ”  _ 6.00 even. _ “Even though I’d tried, I cracked under the pressure, and then Shiro happened and…” Lance’s voice cracks a bit, he has to steel himself before he can continue, “It was like the universe was telling me that I’d wasted my chance. And that that chance can be given or taken away, regardless of to who or from who… Even someone like Shiro.”

Allura listens quietly, her sky blue gaze never leaving Lance’s, they seem to glimmer like blue suns in her eyes in the last light of day. “I can’t say I understand how you feel.” Allura responds after a moment, quietly. Lance flickers his gaze across her subdued features as she regards him seriously, “But I do understand you. Know  _ you _ . And the Lance that I know never cracks under pressure. He thrives in it.” 

Lance furrows his eyebrows with slight disbelief, but when Allura spots it she fixes him with a hard stare, “It’s true. If you were the type to crack under pressure then you would’ve applied to university when the rest of your class did because that’s what everyone was doing.” Lance balks a bit at this, something strange stirs in his gut as Allura continues without a pause, “You wouldn’t be able to surf the way you do, either, you worked  _ hard  _ to be as good as you were… and probably still are. Whatever score you got that day, it doesn’t reflect all of the times you spent working with the waters and at the gym with Hunk, or all the times you wiped out only to get back on the board and take another wave because that’s what you  _ do,  _ Lance.” Allura shifts to look back out at the sunset, her gaze is set in stone and her tone reflects it, “No matter how many times the ocean pushed you down, you always got back up again.”

Lance isn’t sure what to say to that. His gaze falls to his bare feet splayed on the floor, all is silent save for the distant crashing of waves. “It’s time for you to start asking yourself the big questions, Lance.” Allura continues with a set expression, Lance finds his spine is rigid as he listens with every part of his brain, “But it’s not  _ who are you and what do you want to be _ because you already know those things. You’re Lance. You’re a surfer. But it’s more than that… it’s what are you going to do with the time that has been given to you? What kind of surfer do you want to be? What version of  _ yourself  _ do you want to be?”

Lance stares at her with wide eyes, and his mind starts to stir like a bear from hibernation. Something awakens, ruffles its feathers, shakes its mane, and swishes its tail and Lance’s heart rises into his throat to stay there, keeping him effectively speechless. But he isn’t sure what that feeling is. Just that now, his mind is wide awake.

“I always admired that about you, you know.” Allura murmurs, keeping Lance’s gaze firmly on hers, “That persistence. Doing what you want without fearing what others think of you. I know you know yourself well enough to find the answers on your own… But summer’s coming. And I know you don’t want to spend it watching the ISF festival on cable again.” 

Lance’s rendered mute, mostly in shock, but the silence doesn’t last long as Allura stands from her seat, reaching over and ruffling Lance’s hair as she turns to the door again, “Now do I need to bring you a blanket? Or should I just call you when the pizza gets here?”

Lance perks up at this, “You ordered pizza?”

“Veronica did just after I got home.” Allura replies simply, opening the door back inside but she pauses in the door at the last second. She hesitates before she looks back at Lance with a meaningful expression, “I want you to know that I’m not trying to push you in any given direction, Lance. You know yourself better than anyone… I just want you to be happy.” With that Allura turns back inside and shuts the door behind her, leaving Lance alone on the back patio. 

He turns back to the waters, his mind snapping out of its stilled, stagnant state into something firmer, more alive, pulsing.  _ It’s time for you to start asking yourself the big questions, Lance. What are you going to do with the time that is given to you? What kind of surfer do you want to be? What kind of  _ **_Lance_ ** _ do you want to be?  _

Lance stares beyond at the stars that have begun to light in the dim skies above, casting Hermosa in shades of night. 

_ What kind of surfer do I want to be?  _ He thinks to himself, his hands finding purchase on the arms of his chair as he straightens upright.  _ I want to be the best. I want to prove to the world that I can be somebody more than just Lance. I want to be a winner, not someone who gets left behind.  _

_ The next step is to make new memories in the water that outshine the old, reform its purpose, and give him something new to feel within it.  _

Lance stands upright slowly, his hands touch the railing as he looks down at the highlighted waters below as the last of the suns rays, already beneath the horizon, keep them illuminated like an airstrip. 

He doesn’t know what new form of memory he can make in the water that can leave a bigger impression than that fateful day, but he does know that Allura’s right. He can’t stay out of the water forever, he’s going to give in. He just has to  _ refind  _ that part of himself that he’d lost.

… 

The next morning, as soon as Lance wakes up on his day off, he shoots a text to his mom telling her that he’s coming over to grab some things. 

_ “What did you forget?”  _

_ “My surfboards.”  _

He gets dressed in the only pair of board shorts he has at his apartment and a white t-shirt with sandals. He doesn’t know what condition his boards will be in when he finds them, he doesn’t think that they’ll be in surfable condition after two years of neglect, but… he wants to be ready. Just in case. But more likely than not he will have to take them down to the shop for some serious care, maybe even grapple with his boss for a replacement since that was the original place his parents bought them.

His mom didn’t text him back until he was already on his way, his parents’ home being walking distance from the apartment, and he didn’t see it until he was walking onto the street his house lay upon.  _ “I’m proud of you, mijo.” _

Lance tries not to flush at that, but it does make him wonder if he’s really been so off that the other people noticed his itching. Is it really so obvious that he missed the water? … Or is it more than that? 

Lance shakes his head a bit to banish the thoughts from his mind as he shoots a quick thank you text before he heads to the back yard, approaching the shed. His dad repainted it white in the winter, it gleams with strange, alien familiarity as he approaches it but it still has the same padlock on it, same passcode. Lance opens it up with a forced shove of his shoulder.

His gaze immediately zones in on his surfboards sitting upright in the back of the shed, untouched beyond his dad’s tools and lawn equipment. Lance has to maneuver himself carefully around them to get to his boards, first grabbing the x shaped holder for them to lay on and the polish and cleaning supplies before returning inside to get his boards. 

He rests his shortboard on the holder first. It’s covered in dust, the wood isn’t smoothed anymore but almost rough, like a rustic bed’s headboard, but Lance is nonetheless shocked as he didn’t expect two years of neglect to leave his board in such good condition. He expected it to be cracked, maybe even broken up in some places, but what he sees here, it’s nothing a deep cleaning and a thick polish could fix. 

He would be able to ride it today. 

Excitement clambers into Lance’s throat, the kind of excitement he doesn’t think he’s had in a long while at the very prospect, his hands are almost shaking as he grabs his cleaning supplies and gets to work. Religiously pushing down the grain, smoothing the sides, banishing the dust and dirt from its time in the shed. It’s different than when he cleans the surf shop’s boards because these are  _ his  _ boards. And he’s going to  _ ride them  _ today.

Right as he sets the second board upside down to dry before he starts polishing, he feels his phone start to buzz, texts from the group chat he shares with Allura, Hunk, Pidge, Romelle, and Veronica. His sister joined the chat about six months ago, and frankly Lance is rather happy about it; he has always been pretty close with his sister, has been all his life, but in his late highschool years they became truly inseparable, and she found herself growing to be a part of his friend group in junction with it. She has her own friend groups too, Lance has seen her phone, she’s in 4 different group chats. It was then that Lance got why she always has her phone on silent. 

He opens his phone and sees an exchange is already going down. 

_ Pidgeon: Image Attachment 0.10.07  _ __  
_ Princess: What is it? It won’t load. _ __  
_ Pidgeon: Fuck me asklfjaskj  _ __  
_ Pidgeon: I just saw a tweet from the Galra’s official acct talking shit about the private beach over on north side. _ __  
_ Princess: They’re in town early. _ __  
_ Gordon Ramsey: Ugh queue my yearly depression over the state of the world _ __  
_ Gordon Ramsey: https://tenor.com/view/jakeperalta-b99-gif-alrightI’mgonnagocry-879623 _ __  
_ Princess: Whatever. What can you do? _ __  
_ Pidgeon: Talk shit. _ __  
_ Pidgeon: Image Attachment 0.10.10 _ __  
_ Gordon Ramsey: Still no load. _ _  
_ __ Pidgeon: AASDKFJKSLJ This is transphobia.

_ The Dancing Queen: No, it’s elitism _ __  
_ The Dancing Queen: Bc you don’t have an iPhone _ __  
_ Princess: ^^ thank you for reading my mind, beautiful. _ __  
_ Pidgeon: Ha, gay. _ __  
_ Pidgeon: I’ll go up and fight Bezos myself, fucking watch. _ __  
_ Gordon Ramsey: Jeff Bezos runs Amazon, you’re thinking of Tim Cook _ __  
_ Pidgeon: I know what I said _ __  
_ Pidgeon: I will fuck capitalism on this massive cock.  _ _  
_ __ Gordon Ramsey: https://tenor.com/view/absolute-disgust-gif-435897

Lance snorts and shakes his head as he scrolls through the messages, after a moment he taps his thumbs on the keyboard to type but he finds his hands stalling over the send button. He wants to ask one of them for a lift. He can’t drag his longboard all the way the Castle on his own… But he doesn’t want to get their hopes up just yet. He doesn’t know if he’s truly back and ready for everyone to know that he’s trying to surf again, and if he were to ask for a lift to the Castle then he knows that they would all leap to that conclusion in a heartbeat. 

His mom is smart, she knew what he was going to do when he told her he was getting his boards but that’s different. Lance isn’t all that afraid of disappointing her anymore, all things considered. Which is why he’s still a little shocked by her texted reply. _ “I’m proud of you, mijo.”  _

Lance shakes his head and puts his phone down so he can get back to the task at hand, focusing on applying the first coat of polish on each of his boards. Internally he thinks to himself with slight amusement,  _ ‘Wax on, wax off.’  _

Each push and pull does wonders for his nerves, it feels natural, it feels innate, and although he’s nervous about what he has in plan for today this sense of belonging helps to sate these anxieties, smoothed into the polish. He does his shortboard last so that his longboard’s polish has time to be well set before he heads into the house, unlocking the door with the key hidden by the wall lamp on the back porch.

It’s late morning on a Tuesday, so Lance isn’t expecting anyone to be home, and no one is, so he moves about the place without reserve. He grabs a can of sunscreen and three bottles of water from the fridge, scooping the snacks and the water into a reusable grocery bag that Lance tells himself he’ll return later before he calls an Uber. With his bag at hand he locks the door behind him before he pulls his longboard onto his shoulder, walking to the curb, and waiting. 

… 

He asks the Uber driver to take him to the southern edge Paseo De La Playa once they’ve gotten his surfboard strapped to the roof of their car, it’s about fifteen minutes south from his parents’ house and past the public beaches and only about a five to ten minute’s walk from the Castle of Lions. Or, at least, that’s what Lance and his friends call the long abandoned private property right on the beach side, hidden from view by a thick collection of trees and underbrush. It’s been empty ever since Lance started surfing, he, Hunk, and Pidge stumbled upon it once while they were fucking around after school and it became their regular hangout spot. It’s hidden from line of sight and just far away enough from commercial plazas that the government nor companies have come to try and tear down the old shack or take the land, or consequently its stretch of beach, away yet. It’s where Lance chooses to surf when he’s going to work on himself and his moves and form, away and hidden from prying eyes.

He pays the Uber driver and hefts his longboard on his shoulders with the reusable grocery bag at hand, he sets off with a slow pace through the parking lot the Uber dropped him off in and through the trees. 

It’s a little more overgrown in the summer time, making maneuverability difficult, but Lance has had plenty of practice with it, he knows the path to the beach like the back of his hand. When he gets to the old, overgrown chain-link fence that reaches his shoulders, plastered with ancient  _ PRIVATE PROPERTY  _ signs, he sets the board nose down on the other side gingerly before he hops over it and continues on his way without so much as a second glance. To his left he can see the outline of the shack in the distance, the actual ‘Castle’ - it really is a shack, it looks like it barely has more than a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathroom within it, all on one floor, with a dark wood exterior like a fisherman’s hut. Lance doesn’t even look at it, his attention is firmly locked on the break in the trees and shrubbery just ahead with the ocean peeking just beyond it. If he were to look, however, he would notice that the wood is no longer chalky and cracked, but smoothed and renewed, replaced with a wood that almost matches but not quite in several patches. He also would’ve noticed the new light fixture over the refinished doorway, with its hinges rebuilt and reattached, and the fresh gravel in the old driveway that leads outside the middle of the abandoned woods, a small pocket of renewed silence. 

But Lance notices none of that. What he notices is the blues of the familiar waters as he takes his first steps into the familiar sands, immediately he kicks off his sandals, setting them in the shade with the grocery bag he tote along. It’s grainy and rough but also welcome and inviting, sinking slowly beneath Lance’s bare, chesnut feet, growing warmer as the sun reaches more and more into the sky as morning is slowly becoming afternoon. 

Lance sets his board on its nose only briefly to peel off his shirt and toss it on top of his stuff, apply some sunscreen before he lifts it back up again, even though his arms are a little shaky from holding it up for so long; he knows if he sets it all the way down, he will procrastinate the inevitable, as the slight cold in his chest sinks to his stomach and holds him there as he looks to the waves.

They’re not large, they’re rather tame actually for this time of year, point break types with slow cascades from one side to the other. The thunder when they crash into the waters sends shivers up Lance’s spine, one that he can’t tell if it’s excitement or nerves. 

_ I’m already here. There’s no turning back now,  _ Lance tells himself, setting his jaw and staring resolutely at the crystal, deep blue waters.  _ I’ve got to at least try.  _

Lance pauses, setting the nose down so he can strap the leash to his ankle before he strides out with purpose towards the water. 

As soon as the seafoam laps at Lance’s ankles he almost sighs in relief, it’s so immediate and sharp that his arm muscles, now actively aching from use, shock themselves to the point they feel renewed, and Lance starts to wade out into the water. It’s rather chilly, not quite unbearably so, but it wakes Lance up like nothing else as he heads deeper, to his calves, to his thighs, until he can drop his surfboard on the waters and guide it along beside him with one hand over the crashing waves to get where he’s going, beyond, past them. When he gets to the rougher parts past his waist, where he has to dive through the wave to keep it from crushing him underfoot, he grips the sides of his board and leaps onto its gleaming surface, and from there muscle memory takes over. He paddles outwards, propelling himself through the water with practiced strokes and as he pushes himself over and through the tumultuous waves, the adrenaline, the nerves, and the excitement all crowd together into one big pile of emotions sitting in Lance’s chest that energize every action until he finally arrives to his destination; the spot just beyond where the waves begin to crash but just as they begin to swell so he can see what waves may form, the perfect, hitching in-between.

Lance feels the energy lifting from beneath him as his legs hang in the water, the chill makes his skin feel alive under the rising sun and for the first time in  _ years  _ Lance feels something that goes beyond his understanding. It pulses beneath his fingertips with excitement, but with a hint of caution, so after a beat Lance shakes his head to clear the feeling.  _ It’s just like riding a bike _ he tells himself,  _ just gotta get into the swing of things first. _ As soon as the first tubular wave comes rising to meet him Lance paddles with it, digging his hands into the waves until he’s caught in the wave’s rise. He lets out a steely breath as he braces his arms on the board before he leaps to his feet.

He promptly slips and wipes out completely. 

He thrashes underwater before he claws his way to the surface, letting out a rugged breath before he’s able to grab his board where it got thrown out of sorts away from him, luckily still attached to the leash on his ankle. With a frenzied wave of upper body strength he hoists himself back on board right as the next wave starts to rise, Lance has to quickly push himself beyond it so he doesn’t get pummelled while he attempts to recover. 

He’s breath is short and heavy, it takes him a second to recollect himself. He pushes his wet hair from his eyes as he looks back out on the horizon, the sun warming the fresh cool water on his head and shoulders.  _ Okay.  _ He thinks to himself idly,  _ so it’s not like riding a bike.  _

_ That’s alright. I just have to get back into it. Just gotta keep my head in the game and focus. Just me and the water.  _

_ I can do this. _

… 

Lance wipes out at least more ten times, but fortunately after the second he manages to at least get his feet on the board. The tenth time he wipes out it’s because he did a 360 without checking to see where he was landing and missed the wave entirely, but he’s  _ doing  _ it. He’s picking it back up faster than he thought. Once he could actually stand on his feet he went slow, nothing but simple carves and then a great bunch of cutbacks before he started trying for tricks. He did a pretty great tail slide, one that left him practically shaking in exhilaration, before he started grabbing for more, and more and more difficult tricks just to see… 

Lance manages to do a rodeo but as soon as his board hit the water he couldn’t turn it into the wave fast enough and ate it, accidentally swallowing a nasty, thick amount of salt water that leaves him choking, on instinct he pushes his way to that calmed space between cresting waves and sloped rises so he can recollect himself. He struggles to get back on his board, his arms are shaking from effort, his lungs are hurting from the strain of getting tossed around under water, and his legs are aching from the precise movements his tricks require; Lance idly wonders what time it is.  _ Time for a break  _ he thinks, looking for a wave to ride to shore,  _ I can’t go burning myself out too fast.  _

He catches a smaller wave, riding on the foam to get back to shore as he looks up at the sun, now on the other side of the sky,  _ probably just after noon _ , he thinks. When he gets to shallower water he scoops up his board and drags himself onto land, his feet quickly getting covered in sand as he kicks it up on his way to his bag of stuff. He sets down his board gently in the sand, sitting on it to keep his boardshorts from getting sandy before he digs into the bag and produces the trio of water bottles within, quickly gulping down a whole bottle just to rid himself of the salty taste of the seawater in his mouth before he opens one of the fruit snack pouches and pops them in his mouth, moving on to the granola bars soon after, he’s  _ ravenous.  _ Only then does he check his phone and see the time, 3pm.  _ Holy shit _ , he thinks to himself with wide eyes,  _ I’ve been out here for something like 4 hours? Guess my stamina hasn’t laxed as much as I thought it would.  _

He opens his friend’s group chat to see what’s up but it’s nothing groundbreaking, just some memes and a few selfies of Pidge and Hunk geeking out in what looks like that new game shop in town, One Eyed Jacques. 

_ Gordon Ramsey: They let u take some games off the walls to play on the tables!! We’re so coming here for a game night!!! _ __  
_ Pidgeon: Friday, 6pm, I challenge you all to Catan! _ __  
_ The Dancing Queen: I’ve never played, but I’d love to come! _ __  
_ Princess: I have work until 6, but I can meet up with you after I change my clothes back home.  _ __  
This was at noon. Then later, at 1:30.    
__ Pidgeon: @Sharpshooter?

And now a half hour ago. 

_ Pidgeon: … Should we get an amber alert? _ __  
_ Gordon Ramsey: https://tenor.com/view/raven-nervously-chewing-gum-gif-3561126 _ _  
_ __ Useless Lesbian: Mom texted me and told me he went home for some stuff, he’s probably just moving shit. 

Lance hesitates his thumbs over the keyboard. He doesn’t want to lie to them, but he doesn’t want to get them all excited for nothing just yet. Not yet. 

_ Sharpshooter: Sorry! Friday @ 6 sounds like a great time for me to utterly destroy all of you.  _ _  
_ _ Sharpshooter: @The Dancing Queen prepare for a trial by fire. _

Lance laughs out loud when Allura almost immediately responds.

_ Princess: The only thing that will be on fire are your pubes if you hurt my angel.  _ _  
_ _ Pidgeon: https://tenor.com/view/nervous-sweating-comedy-comedy-central-key-and-peele-gif-3572014 _

“Who the hell are you?” 

Lance almost literally jumps out of his skin at the sudden voice over his shoulder, he scrambles to his feet with wide eyes before he meets the gaze of the stranger. Someone he instantly recognizes despite the few minutes he knew him. 

_ “What the-?”  _ Lance blinks, rubbing his eyes before he points an accusing finger, “I remember you! I recognize that mullet anywhere!”

And that he does, though his name eludes him until the last possible second. Keith, the guy he met but twenty minutes before he faced off with him in his first ever heat. He doesn’t look dressed for southern California, rather more like John Bender from  _ the Breakfast Club  _ called and wants his look back, with a leather jacket and a black t-shirt with some sort of graffiti-like art on the front, ripped jeans. His hands, clad in black, leather, fingerless gloves, are wrapped around what looks like a red leash, like for dogs, but no dog in sight. He looks just the same as he did when Lance met him at the heat, same haircut and everything, and the same penetrating, pretty,  _ yeah, pretty infuriating _ eyes that glimmer a deep, dark violet, almost black, in the shadows of the canopy. Though he’s taller now. Lance remembers looking down at him before. Now he’s eye level, and he doesn’t care for that shit at  _ all.  _

Keith merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him as he crosses his arms, the leash hanging over his forearm, “... You know this is private property, right?”

Lance narrows his eyes at him, almost offended he sets his hands on his hips with an accusing look, “Don’t you recognize me?” Keith blinks at him without a change in expression so Lance persists, “Lance! Lance McClain! We competed in a heat at the ISF Festival two years ago!”

Keith blinks at him again but his visage remains a stone wall. “... Nice to meet you, again, I guess.” Before Lance can open his mouth with fumes coming out of his ears Keith continues in a no nonsense, chilly tone, “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“Says who?” Lance challenges with narrowed eyes, waving his hand idly over Keith’s shoulder to the shack beyond, “This place is abandoned.”

“Not anymore it isn’t.” Keith’s answer is simple and his tone is harsh, and that’s when Lance really looks at the shack behind him. Sees the fresh gravel, the refurnished wood, the new door-light, and the black and red motorcycle on the narrow gravel driveway. It’s nothing fancy, it’s rather rustic actually, but Lance can’t help but seethe at how  _ stereotypical  _ that is,  _ of course  _ a  _ broody bad boy  _ in a  _ leather jacket  _ and  _ fingerless gloves  _ and  _ black hair  _ that hangs in his  _ pretty eyes  _ has a fucking  _ motorcycle-  _

“Wait a minute.” Lance shakes his thoughts to the present, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks back at the brooding wonder himself, “You own this joint? How?”

Keith merely sets his jaw and keeps his arms firmly crossed as he pins Lance down with his eyes, “Doesn’t matter.” Lance begs to differ, quite frankly he thinks it matters to him  _ quite a lot  _ that his favorite surfing spot, for its peace and its quiet and its security, has been taken by some  _ guy  _ but he doesn’t get the chance to argue with him as Keith continues with a level tone, “You need to get you and your  _ lousy moves _ out of here before I call the cops.”

Lance blinks in shock at this, but surprisingly it isn’t the threat of the police that pisses him off, but rather…  _ “Excuse  _ me, my lousy  _ what now?”  _ He challenges with narrowed eyes, but as the insult sinks in he realizes what exactly that implies. He shakes his head, straightening a little as he cocks an eyebrow in the other’s direction, “Wait a minute, were you watching me?” 

Keith huffs and looks his gaze off to the side, like he’s too  _ good  _ to look Lance in the  _ eye,  _ this  _ fucking guy _ \- “Well, I couldn’t tell you to fuck off from the shore, so yeah, I had to wait for you to get out of the water.” Keith flickers his gaze back over at Lance and his throat tightens with something filled with a metallic taste as he continues in the same, fixed tone, “Your  _ moves _ aren’t all that bad… you just don’t think ahead. You’d nail a trick and then you wouldn’t know where to go from there so you got all hitched along the way. It was sloppy.”

Lance can’t help but bristle, “They’re not  _ sloppy!”  _ Keith doesn’t so much as blink at him as Lance throws his hands in the air with a loud huff, “And I don’t remember asking you for any surfing advice!”

Keith leans on one booted foot as he tilts his head to the side in an almost bored manner, “Well, who else was gonna tell you?” He flickers his gaze across the beachside before he tacks on, “You really shouldn’t surf alone, you know. In case you hit your head and drown… or something.”

“I know!” Lance snaps back, though internally he does kind of panic because he totally had not thought about that. He was so focused on his  _ just trying it out  _ thoughts that he hadn’t really considered safety. Of what could’ve happened if he’d come here, without anyone knowing, and something happened to him. That fills him with a deep cold that radiates throughout his being like a dropped ice cube in a pot of tea. “I just… All my friends were busy.” Lance quickly lies, rubbing the back of his neck before hissing when he feels the sensitivity of the skin.  _ Fuck _ , he thinks to himself,  _ I should’ve gotten out of the water to reapply sunscreen. Damnit.  _

“Right.” Keith hums before he jerks his chin, “Whatever. Just get your stuff and get out.” 

He turns to walk away, but Lance finds himself starting after him, “Hey, wait a minute, you can’t just throw me out! This is  _ my  _ beach! I’ve been surfing here since I was 15!” 

“Cool.” Keith replies in a terse manner before he suddenly puckers his lips and whistles in a beckoning manner and making a sweeping gesture towards the shack. Lance can vaguely see the outline of a dog, a big one, bolt from the shrubbery far ahead before they disappear through the back, into the house. 

Lance isn’t giving up yet, not with this on the line, not with the Castle,  _ his  _ Castle, on the line. He presses after Keith before hitching when the surfboard comes after him, he hops to rip off the leash before he chases Keith down and grabs his shoulder, “Hey-” Keith whips around and looks at him with a hard, accusing look that almost screams  _ just try something, I dare you _ , but Lance lets his hand drop quickly.  _ Okay,  _ he thinks when he sees the obvious tension in Keith’s shoulders,  _ maybe a less confrontational approach _ . 

“Listen, okay, I’m sorry, I just… This place means a lot to me. I get it, it’s your area now, but it would mean a lot to me if you could just let me use… your… beach.” Keith’s gaze softens so it’s less like a cement block and more like a plastered wall, so Lance continues with a slightly pleading manner, but  _ only slightly  _ because he’s not gonna beg  _ this  _ guy for rights to his… well… he guesses it isn’t really  _ his  _ beach, but it might as well be. “Not all the time, and it’ll just be me. You won’t even know I’m here.” He offers this with a charming smirk meant to be coercive, and it kind of hurts Lance to make. 

Keith flickers his gaze across Lance’s features before he states, “$10.” 

Lance blinks at him stupidly for a solid five seconds before he raises an eyebrow, “Huh?”

“$10 for each time you come here. Slip it under my door.” Keith gestures back towards the shack with his head before he fixes his violet, indigo gaze on Lance’s.

Lance lets out a loud breath,  _ “$10?”  _ That’s a big bite considering how often he planned on returning, it almost makes his righteous anger rear its head all over again. He shouldn’t have to  _ pay  _ to use his beach, this is  _ his beach _ .  _ But I can play this guy’s game.  _ Lance narrows his eyes at Keith and puts on his best business man voice, “How’s $5?”

Keith meets his gaze evenly and crosses his arms in a stern manner. “$9.”

“$6.”

“$8.”

“... $6.50?”

“... Fine.” Keith flickers his gaze across Lance’s features before he wordlessly turns on heel and marches towards the shack. His house. But as Lance turns back to get his things he hears Keith follow up with a different, more guarded tone, “And don’t come alone. Bring someone with you.” Lance blinks and looks back at him with a raised eyebrow. Keith is standing with one foot on the laid down boards that substitute a porch, his gaze locked so hard on Lance’s that he finds himself stalling as the dark haired man continues, “... Just don’t throw a damn party on the beach.” 

With that he turns and heads inside the shack. His house. 

Lance purses his lips, unsure of exactly how to feel about that as he goes about packing his stuff up. Once he’s got his shirt back on, his bag at hand, and his surfboard on his shoulder, he pulls out his phone, staring at the list of contacts as he struggles with the internal decision. He needs a ride home now, but he doesn’t have the money for another Uber.  _ Fuck.  _

He calls Hunk as he makes his way through the woods, picking his way carefully with the imbalance of his board hefted on his shoulder.

The phone line picks up after two rings, “Hey man, what’s up?” 

“Hey. Is Pidge with you still?” Lance asks, remembering the selfies in the group chat that Pidge and Hunk were out at One Eyed Jacques. 

“Yeah, why?”  _ Fuck.  _

_ It’s okay,  _ Lance says to himself as he slightly shakes his head,  _ they all are bound to figure it out eventually, anyways. If this is something I’m gonna continue doing… then they should all know.  _

“Okay, well uh… can you come pick me up?”

Hunk doesn’t hesitate as he answers with a worried, parental tone, “Of course, are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Lance assures him quickly, “I uh… I’m at the Castle.”

_ “The Castle?”  _ There’s silence on the other line before Lance vaguely hears what sounds like high pitched squealing. Hunk comes back on, clearing his throat with a surprisingly level voice, “Uh… Yeah, no problem, man. Be there in fifteen.” 

“Cool, I’ll be in the parking lot.” Lance hangs up and drops his phone in the bag with the deed done, focusing on the task of getting out of the forest. 

Hunk and Pidge immediately know what the Castle is, and why Lance was there, and he’s nervous about that means. He doesn’t know how they’ll react, maybe disappointed that he went back to surfing? Or happy that he’s trying again? Or expectant that he’ll be wanting to join the ISF festival this year? Which is still a good two months out… now would be the time to start training, getting in shape… 

_ No,  _ Lance deftly shakes his head as he breaks clear of the foliage, shifting between the thin space between the parking lot’s fence and the bathroom building built next to it,  _ I’m not thinking about that just yet. I can’t get too ahead of myself. I wiped out so much today that I would be lucky to have gotten a 5…  _

_ No, more than that. I don’t wanna think about this in terms of numbers and scores, not yet. I’m not ready for that. Yet.  _

_ Yet.  _ Lance pauses as he gently sets the nose of his board down on the steamy pavement, holding its side as he pulls out his phone to check the time.  _ A yet means there’s more to come.  _

_ Am I ready to be back at it now? _

Lance recognizes Pidge’s stationwagon coming around the corner and into the parking lot after a few minutes waiting, scrolling through his media feeds. They pull to a stop in front of him and they both rise to get out of the car. Pidge makes their way around to the back seat, already pulling out the lashes and bungees for strapping the board to the roof as Hunk suddenly rushes him and grapples Lance in a full body hug. 

“Whoa, hey man!” Lance blinks in shock, hugging him back after a moment right before Hunk pulls away. 

“Dude!” He grips Lance’s shoulders with both large hands in excitement, his smile is just as radiant as he is, “So, does this mean you’re…?” He gestures to the surfboard at his arm with a hopeful gaze.

Lance bites his lip as Hunk trails off, looking at his board in his arm before he flashes Hunk a cheesy grin, “Yeah, I think I’m back at it again with that surfing B-S.”

Hunk smiles at him with a true blue gaze of warmth as Pidge approaches. They give him a warm smile, one that sends pulses of joy all the way to Lance’s toes as they murmur, “About fucking time, sharpshooter.” 

With their help Lance gets his board on top of the car before he hops into the backseat, taking up his spot in the center back, his elbows on the two pilot chairs in the front as Pidge drives off. “So,” Hunk begins, shifting in his seat so he can look at Lance, “What’s the deal, now? You gonna do the ISF opener this year?”

Lance quickly shakes his head. “Too early for all that.” He means it literally and figuratively. Lance looks out the windshield, pensively biting his lip before he lets out a soft breath, “I’m just gonna take it one day at a time.” 

“Well, if you’re down, we should make a night of it tomorrow after you get off work.” Pidge offers with a cocked eyebrow at Lance in the rearview mirror. 

Lance lets out a slow breath and shakes head, “Yeah, no. I wiped out a lot. I think I’m gonna need the day tomorrow off-work time to uh… recover…” Lance drums his fingertips on the back of Hunk’s chair and speaks without much thought behind it, “Maybe Thursday?” 

“Sounds like a date.” Pidge smirks with snappy fingers as they make a turn, “Back to your place, Lance?”

“No, I gotta go to my mom’s first. I need my other board and my stuff… then if you don’t mind taking me back, that would be cool.” He replies quickly with a pleading, puppy eyed look thrown at Pidge.

They look at him in the rearview and let out a noise of disgust, “Ugh. You’re lucky I love you.” 

After a long moment of silence between the trio Hunk flickers his chocolate gaze across Lance’s sun-kissed, almost too-red features, “Can we tell the others about it? You surfing again?”

Lance smirks a bit and shrugs, “I mean, if you want, it’s not some big secret or anything.” The little voice in the back of Lance’s head whispers,  _ like they’d care anyway  _ but Lance has long learned how to beat that voice bloody for talking out of turn before going on his merry way, because they  _ do  _ care. And he knows it. He can see it in the way Hunk and Pidge keep exchanging excited glances, and how Allura had pushed him over the edge on it last night… And his mom.  _ “I’m proud of you, mijo.”  _

“Great!” Hunk immediately perks up and whips out his phone, two seconds later Lance feels his phone go off and he pulls it out to see the group chat filling up. 

_ Gordon Ramsey: @everyone Guess who we just picked up from the Castle of Lions??? @Sharpshooter _ __  
_ The Dancing Queen: https://tenor.com/view/jonah-hill-yay-greek-aldos-gif-3459 _ __  
_ The Dancing Queen: Hooray! I’m proud of you, Lance! _ _  
_ __ Princess: @Sharpshooter so when’s the competition?

Lance flushes in embarrassment, he finds his hand covering his mouth as warmth swarms his being like walking by the air conditioning unit in the doorway of a department store.  _ Wow.  _ He pulls himself together to reply as he shoots a brilliant grin at Hunk.

_ Sharpshooter: I really appreciate it, guys. No competitions yet… still getting my  _ _ bearings _ _ :)  _ __  
_ Useless Lesbian: Then the Castle is definitely the best place for you to… get your feet back in the water :) _ __  
_ Gordon Ramsey: https://tenor.com/view/internally-screaming-gif-93456 _ __  
“Is around 1 okay? For thursday?” Hunk asks after groaning out loud at the terrible puns, looking up from his phone briefly at Pidge and Lance, who give him affirmative nods. 

_ Gordon Ramsey: So surfing party, Thursday afternoon. 1pm, @everyone B there or B _ _ 2 _ __  
_ The Dancing Queen: I’ll bring sunscreen and waters if you bring lunch, @Gordon Ramsey ! _ _  
_ _ Princess: Yes,  _ _ Please _ __ don’t forget sunscreen again, @Sharpshooter I don’t care how Hispanic you are, the Cali sun can and will incinerate your ass.

Lance snorts and laughs to himself as he shakes his head.  _ Wow _ , he thinks to himself,  _ What the hell did I do to deserve such good friends?  _

_ Sharpshooter: I  _ _ was _ _ gonna bring all that stuff, you don’t need to remind me! D:< _ __  
_ Princess: Sure sweetie :) _ __  
_ Sharpshooter: And why didn’t you @Useless Lesbian ??? _ __  
_ Useless Lesbian: I’m a nurse, that’s why. I’ve seen more sunburn than @Princess has seen misogynists in the science field. _ __  
_ Princess: Oof.  _ __  
_ Useless Lesbian: Besides, we know your dumbass. _ __  
_ Sharpshooter: You’re* _ __  
_ Useless Lesbian: No, You’re*  _ _ A _ _ dumbass. I was just saying that we know your ass that is also dumb.  _ _  
_ __ Useless Lesbian: https://tenor.com/view/getfucked-gif-87234

Lance snorts. __  
_ Sharpshooter: I don’t remember signing up for 4 more parents. :I _ __  
_ Princess: That’s why you always read the contract before you sign it. No revoking clause. _ _  
_ __ Useless Lesbian: Oh, and you’re welcome, by the way @Sharpshooter

Lance can’t help but raise an eyebrow as he looks up at Hunk, who purposefully doesn’t meet his gaze. Pidge takes a turn and swears under their breath about California stops.

_ Sharpshooter: ?? _ _  
_ _ Useless Lesbian: Who do you think has been taking care of your boards all this time? _

Lance blinks at his phone before he looks off to the side, recalling this morning when he was cleaning his boards. His boards that were in surprisingly good condition despite the fact he hasn’t even breathed on them in two years. 

_ Sharpshooter: … Thank you. _ __  
_ Sharpshooter: I guess I can forgive you for sitting on my head and farting on me until I passed out on Christmas. :D _ __  
_ Useless Lesbian: That was TEN YEARS AGO.  _ __  
_ Sharpshooter: Did I fucking stutter? _ __  
_ Useless Lesbian: You know, Cain had some good ideas. _ __  
_ Gordon Ramsey: https://tenor.com/view/michaeljackson-eatingpopcorn-gif-64738 _ _  
_ __ Useless Lesbian: Image Attachment ‘youarenotimmunetopropoganda.jpg’

Pidge growls under their breath as they shoot a quick glare in the rearview mirror, “Quit spamming the group chat, I feel like I have a vibrator strapped to my ass.” 

Hunk flushes all the way to his neck as Lance lets out a wild laugh, relenting by putting his phone away. But, not before he rests his chin on the back of Pidge’s seat, purring in a fauxly seductive tone,  _ “Are you feeling it now, Mr. Krabs?”  _

“Turn this car around!” Hunk cries out as both Pidge and Lance laugh almost simultaneously. The ride back to Lance’s parents’ place is short and sweet, they arrive just before 5. Lance gets out and with his two friends they head to the backyard to get his stuff.

His shortboard rests on its stool where he left it, but it now it’s in the shade so it’s out of direct sunlight, but that comes secondary when Lance sees his mom is on the back porch with a cup of tea on the table and her feet up on the chair in front of her. She is short and robust, coming just around Lance’s shoulders in height, with curling brown hair to her mid-back and the bright blue eyes he and Veronica inherited.  _ “Mijo!”  _ Lance blinks and turns as his mom suddenly rises upon spotting them, Hunk and Pidge both pause behind him, knowing what’s coming. As soon as she is close she immediately wraps her arms around Lance’s shoulders and kisses his cheek before she does the same to Pidge and Hunk, who greet her with equal warmth. “So you went to the beach today?” She asks excitedly, immediately locking her gaze on Lance expectantly, “Are you surfing again?”

Lance pauses. He doesn’t know why he keeps hesitating, saying it out loud, again and now again… it should be easy to admit. But it’s not. He feels like he’s made a permanent decision, breached an impasse where he either didn’t surf, moved on, got a life, or he surfs, staying here, in the past… that’s probably how his dad would see it. But for Lance it feels more like he made the decision in this way: don’t surf and go through life wondering what matters, or surf, and know what exactly he’s born to do. He’s caught in between these two fields, and that’s why he’s hesitating, because he doesn’t know which “surf” he is actually signing onto. 

He clears his throat, “Yeah… Yeah, I am.” 

His mom smiles at him kindly and pats his cheek, “Good. I know how much it means to you… I’m glad to see you rekindled your inner fire.” She looks over to Hunk and Pidge again with a broad smile, “Are you all staying for dinner?”

Pidge looks apologetically at Lance, “I actually do gotta get back home pretty early. Matt’s flying in at 4am tomorrow from a RedEye and I’m picking him up.

Lance perks up at this, “Whoa, Matt’s coming home? For how long?”

Pidge smiles a bit as they wedge their hands into their pockets, “Two weeks vacation.”

“Sick.” Hunk murmurs under his breath with an excited smile. 

“Alright.” Lance’s mom says with a gentle smile, pinching Lance’s cheek much to his displeasure before she gestures to his shortboard on the rest, “I moved it out of the sun so the wood doesn’t warp after being in the shed for so long. Are you taking it back to your apartment?” When Lance nods she mimics the movement, “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

_ “Gracias mamá,” _ Lance hums as he kisses his mom on the temple before he turns to Pidge and Hunk to get their help loading up his shortboard and the care supplies in the trunk.

Lance’s mom waves them goodbye once they’re off, Lance gives her another kiss on the cheek at her insistence once Hunk and Pidge are getting in the car but before he can pull away his mom holds him close and runs a hand through his hair affectionately. “I mean it when I say I’m proud of you.” She murmurs, releasing him after a moment and smiling at him warmly, “It’s difficult to get back on a horse once you’ve fallen off. I’m happy to know I raised you right.” 

Lance snorts and shakes his head at her playfully but gives her a meaningful smile,  _ “Gracias mamá,” _ She smiles at him as he heads back to Pidge’s car. 

Pidge stops at Lance’s apartment and the pair help him get his shit upstairs, and as soon as Lance unlocks his apartment and walks to the back towards his room he can see Veronica in the kitchen to the right, and he can smell something burnt and  _ God awful.  _

_ “Dios mío,  _ Vero, what the  _ fuck  _ is that?” Lance calls as he shuffles in, opening his door and then setting the surfboard rack down, folding it to lean against the wall before he takes the longboard from Hunk, then the shortboard from Pidge to lean it against the wall beside it. 

Veronica huffs in response, barely audible from his room, “It was  _ supposed  _ to be  _ torticas de moron _ …”

The trio walk back into the main room and Lance takes up a seat on one of the two bar stools at the kitchen counter, smirking at his sister, “Well, it smells like the underside of a ten year old fryer. ”

Veronica is still wearing her scrubs but now with a black apron overtop that reads  _ ‘I’ll feed all you fuckers’,  _ which was once a gift to Hunk only to find out that the strings it came with were too short, so Lance ended up keeping it instead. Behind her, on the stovetop, is a long pan with blackened circles dotting its surface, the horrid source of the burning scent. “ _ You _ smell like the underside of a cumsock.” Veronica shoots back viciously and Hunk immediately chokes; she looks over at him apologetically.

Lance rolls his eyes at her and rests his elbows on the counter, “What’re you doing making  _ torticas  _ anyway?” 

“They’re your favorite, right?” She asks with a rhetorical raise in her eyebrow, meeting his gaze with a firm fire that she shares with their mom, and now a far more civilized tone, “Figured you’d want some after surfing for the first time in… a while.” 

Lance’s heart warms at that, sudden emotion strangles his throat and all he can do is manage a small smile shot in her direction.  _ Celebratory torticas. She made them because they’re his favorite to show that she’s happy he’s back at it. Fuck. What  _ **_did_ ** _ he do to deserve such good friends? _

She winks at him with a similar look before she rests her hand on her hip, fanning the crispy remains of the  _ torticas, _ “You got your boards from  _ mamá’s?”  _

_ “Sí.”  _ Lance responds quickly as he straightens up, “They look good, by the way. Like… really good, all things considered. Thanks for uh… taking care of them for me.”

“Yeah, you owe me big time.” Veronica snaps with a playful light in her eyes, “Do you have any idea how many youtube videos I had to watch? Articles I had to read?”

The front door opens and Lance hears the jingle of keys as the last remaining tenant arrives to the suite. “Hey Allura!” Pidge greets as they take up a seat next to Lance. Veronica bends down to look in the burnt  _ torticas _ , honestly more like charcoal at this point, and grimaces. Noticing her expression Hunk immediately gets into action and lives up to his group chat server name, helping her dump the ruined cookies out before starting fresh with the leftover dough as Allura strides into the room. 

She spots Lance immediately and breaks into a wide smile, setting down her purse and taking off her wedges as she approaches. She leans an elbow on the counter beside him and ruffles his hair, “So, how were the waves at the Castle?”

Lance leans his chin in his hand as he reflects back upon it fondly. “Really good. Calmer than this time of year, great for uh… getting back into things.” He pauses, looking off to the side with a sheepish expression as he recalls the amount of times he ate the waters.  _ God, seawater tastes terrible when it’s forced down your throat. _

It’s during that reflecting that Lance recalls the more momentous event that occurred  _ after  _ the surfing, and his blood pressure rises almost instantly. “But you’re not gonna believe this, holy  _ shit _ , guys,” Lance starts with a snapping tone, holding up his hands and immediately drawing the attention from the room as he cries, “Someone bought the property!” 

“Whoa, what? Really?” Pidge asks with wide eyes, “I didn’t know it was for sale!” 

“It wasn’t.” Veronica replies with an furrowed gaze in his direction as Hunk gets to work on using the leftover dough to remake the  _ torticas;  _ despite it traditionally being a Cuban thing Hunk has a natural sense for how food works and Lance honestly thinks that, if given the opportunity, Hunk could make  _ torticas de moron  _ that even his mima would be proud of. “It couldn’t have been a foreclosed or seized property. It had to have been bought, mortgage paid for until it was owned by someone, who then left it. Otherwise that would’ve been a part of the public beaches years ago.” 

Lance hits his fist against the counter, shaking his head as he continues in a peeved tone, “Well, someone lives there now, you’re not gonna  _ believe  _ who it is.” 

“Who?” Allura asks with her head in their hands, regarding Lance with diligent interest.

_ “Keith Kogane.”  _ Lance huffs, the name itself making him even more pissed. The others regard him with confused expressions, so Lance continues with a waving motion of his hands, “You know, the guy who I competed with at my first heat? Keith? Dark hair in a mullet, white as snow despite it being southern Cali?”

Suddenly Hunk snaps his fingers, looking up from where he has fresh  _ torticas  _ lining up on the pan, “Oh, I know him!” 

Pidge gives him a deadpan look, “You weren’t there, genius.” 

“I know!” Hunk dusts of his hands before he pulls his phone out of his cargo shorts, “But I remember seeing him all the time on Shiro’s Instagram, he’s his foster brother. And a hell of a surfer, too, if you see the boomerangs.” He turns his back to the group so that we can see his media feed, scrolling through Shiro’s old posts. Lance recognizes them from over two year ago, probably around the time before the competition. 

Keith isn’t the subject of his posts, he appears and is tagged in the background in a few, but there is one video that shows one of Keith’s moves at the competition. The superman one, specifically. Lance hates him even more just by looking at it because God  _ fucking damnit  _ it’s even more flawless from  _ this  _ angle.  _ What a motherfucking-  _

“Yeah,  _ him.”  _ Lance hisses, crossing his arms in an even more irritated manner, “He lives in the Castle now.”

Allura gently touches his shoulder, when he meets her sapphire gaze she raises an eyebrow, “Are you not allowed to surf there anymore?”

Slowly Lance shakes his head, tasting his words, “He said I can… He’s just charging me $6.50 for everytime I go.” 

Hunk’s eyebrows raise as he digests the information, after a moment he merely shrugs, “Hey, that’s not too bad. That’s like, basically guaranteeing yourself a stretch of private beach, just for you. The one on north side charges $100 a month for that, and even then you still gotta share it with the rich assholes who live there.”

Lance sticks his tongue out at Hunk, “Yeah, well, I still shouldn’t have to pay! That’s  _ our  _ beach.” 

“Not anymore.” Veronica replies sardonically, to which Lance shoots her a hard glare before she follows it up in a gentler tone, “But hey, at least he’s letting you use it. He could’ve just told you to fuck off.” 

Lance curls his nose at her with an accusing bare of his teeth, “Whose side are you on?” Veronica rolls her eyes at him and although Lance’s ire is fierce it isn’t too serious, so he lets it go. “What’s even worse is that he started giving me  _ pointers _ .” Lance huffs, his hands curling into fists with a furious pout, “Like, he said I needed to  _ think ahead  _ before I made a move so I knew where to go from there, yada-yada-yada. Who gives him the right? What does  _ he  _ know anyway? You know at the time of the competition he’d only been surfing for a year? Seriously,  _ a year!  _ He’s got to have no life outside of surfing, like, that’s the only explanation-”

“It doesn’t look like he’s been surfing since the competition.” Pidge pipes up after a moment, looking at their phone. Lance blinks and looks over their shoulder as they show him an Instagram page, what looks like Keith’s; it has several pictures of a large, friendly looking German Shepherd with a dark blue collar, some pics of the ocean, and just about nothing else to signify the owner… But the profile picture has the outline of that  _ fucking mullet  _ that he can probably spot from a crowd of hippies, making it impossible for him to be mistaken. And his name is in the profile descriptor. 

“His last surfing video is from well before the competition, so maybe that was it. He hasn’t even been on the west coast for the past year.” They point to the time stamp, 7 months ago, then the location check in at Austin, Texas on an artsy photo of the city skyline at night. 

“Well, whatever.” Lance huffs, throwing his hands in the air before he drums his fingers on the table, “Probably won’t be seeing him around, anyway. He said just to slip the money under his door when I came over.” 

“All things considered, that doesn’t sound like the worst possible outcome.” Allura hums with slight relief before she strides around to grab the leftover pizza box from last night to reheat one of the three slices within. Veronica ensures that she saves her one as Pidge gets up from the table when Hunk puts the  _ torticas  _ in the oven, turning to Lance then to him, “Alright, I’ve gotta head home and try and sleep a bit. Come on, big guy.” 

Hunk and Pidge wave goodbye before they head out, Veronica calls to thank Hunk for his help before they disappear. 

Veronica, Allura, and Lance reheat the three slices of pizza and split them as they wait on the  _ torticas _ , watching diligently to ensure they don’t burn this time. There are only three, as that is all that was left of the leftover materials, so once they’re finished they enjoy them as well as they talk about their collective days,; or, rather, Lance listens as Allura and Veronica talk about the kind of shit they had to put up with at work with their male co-workers, and frankly he understands their righteous fury. They sound like bags of dicks. They even crack open some of the coronas they keep in the fridge, getting buzzed enough to laugh a little harder but nothing close to drunk. They only have a few rules in the apartment, and one of them is that they are not allowed to drink alone. Veronica says that drinking alone means that you’re drinking for the wrong reasons, and Lance is happy to oblige, as he doesn’t find being drunk to be as enjoyable when he’s alone anyway. It’s at least 80% fun because of the shenanigans one can get into when there are no internal inhibitions to stop you.

By the time it’s past 10 at night Veronica quits to go to bed before her morning shift at 5, and Allura soon follows, leaving Lance alone in the living room watching the shit sci-fi film they put on an hour ago. He watches it for a few more minutes before he shuts it off and sits in the dark, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth before his gaze wanders to the glass door leading out to the patio. He can taste the seawater remaining from his day’s adventure, although he’s long since dried off, before he even got to his mom’s house, but the salt stays with him. That and the feeling of the sand beneath his feet, the chill of the water lapping his arms as they braced on his board… 

Lance doesn’t go to sleep on the porch that night. He gets in his bed, turning on the fairlights he strung around the bedframe over his head to ease his eyes into the darkness before he can sleep. He’d decorated his room here with the pictures of his friends and tagged memorabilia he’d collected over the years but with only one poster from his old, copious surfing collection, the rest are in some landfill far away from here. This one was from within a tubing wave, looking out at the beach with the curling water surrounding it like tunnel vision, the ISF logo in the corner. 

Lance lays in bed on his phone for a little while until he grows tired and puts it aside, plugging it in, turning off the lights and then curling up into the pillows with the scent of the ocean surrounding him like a warm blanket that penetrates deeper than any normal blanket could. When his eyes open he can see the silhouette of his boards, like sentinels guarding a temple.

_ Thursday afternoon surfing party. Be there or be square.  _

To Lance’s surprise, he doesn’t dread the moment his friends rejoin him in this big of his life. Rather, he’s excited. Like…  _ really  _ excited. 

Thursday can’t get here soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray, let's get out of the world building and into some motherfuckin plot!  
> Chapter perspectives will be switching around between Keith and Lance, though next chapter is also going to be from Lance's perspective. This fic is gonna be primarily centered from his point of view, with some mixes of Keith for some ,,, diversity. And perspective.


	3. Riptide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two years hiatus, Lance has finally decided to get back into surfing... but it's not simply just like riding a bike. No, he's got some practice to do. Lance promised himself to take it slow at first, not to get too ambitious too quickly so that he can fully re-immerse himself into his passion.   
> But, of course, Lance loves biting off more than he can chew. And this time, he might just choke.  
> \--  
> *Warnings of the chapter: vaguely implied underage drinking, drinking, but not to the point of getting drunk, i.e. casual, social drinking*

When Lance wakes up on Thursday he’s almost trembling in absolute excitement. After a long day at the surf shop the day before, agonizing over hearing the water, seeing the boards, knowing what lay ahead, what lay  _ today, _ he grew to be more than ready to hit the waves with his friends in tow. Once he’s even remotely awake he’s up - well before nine because he’s simply too excited to sleep in - and making himself a protein packed breakfast, eggs, bacon, the works. Veronica wakes up to the smell and comes to mooch off of it, Lance complains about it only for a few minutes before he relents and doubles the food he’s already making to accommodate for it. He would’ve complained a lot more if he didn’t remember that his boards are still more than usable today because she took care of them while he was on hiatus; nothing can really encapsulate just how much that means to him. Not in the slightest. So he makes her scrambled eggs instead.

Time flies by but also somehow drags like a sandbag through grass as Lance waits until 1. He passes the time by scrolling through his social media, once she’s up he watches an episode of  _ Stranger Things  _ with Allura before she got too scared and they had to switch to cat videos on Youtube. Frankly Lance is pretty glad they did because  _ fuck  _ whatever that thing is that calls you on the phone and steals your kid, he doesn’t care that Hunk and Pidge have been raving about it. Lance doesn’t fuck with it  _ at all, _ that’s for  _ damn sure. _ He’s only ever watched horror movies with a date because it’s an excuse to cuddle in the movie theatre, but in all honesty he doesn’t actually watch the movie; he hates the suspense, and the scary jump bits do nothing but rattle his nerves and he can do without such negative vibes in his life, thank you. 

By the time it’s a quarter past noon Lance is in his room getting changed into board shorts, even though the beach is a five minute drive he wants to be ready  _ now.  _ He was ready to be there at  _ nine.  _ As he gets changed he hears his phone vibrate intermittently where it sits on his nightstand so he picks it up to see what all the fuss is about in the group chat. 

_ Gordon Ramsey: So for food are we talking a picnic?  _ _   
_ _ The Dancing Queen: That would be so wonderful!!  _ ۹(˒௰˓)۶   
_ The Dancing Queen: I’m bringing a pack of waterbottles and some Gatorade for you @Sharpshooter ! _ _   
_ _ Useless Lesbian: I’m bringing a six pack of Orchards @The Dancing Queen @Princess _ _   
_ _ Pidgeon: Make it two and I’ll split the cost _ _   
_ _ Gordon Ramsey: We aren’t legal, least of all u Mx “I skipped two grades” _ _   
_ _ Pidgeon: This is transphobia _ _   
_ _ Useless Lesbian: Done.  _ _   
_ __ Gordon Ramsey: Vero no!!!!

_ Princess: You drink at college. _ _   
_ _ Useless Lesbian: ^ No one’s gonna care. _

Lance laughs softly to himself before he makes his contribution. 

_ Sharpshooter: You are terrible influences. @Useless Lesbian what would Mom say! _ _   
_ _ Useless Lesbian: https://tenor.com/view/catchmeoutsidehowboutdat-2453 _ _   
_ _ Pidgeon: I’ll swoop by in about twenty minutes for your board @Sharpshooter so _ _   
_ __ Pidgeon: https://tenor.com/view/scar-thelionking-beprepared-983599

Lance smirks to himself before he puts his phone in his pocket, grabs a t-shirt, then his longboard from its place leaning against the wall and walking back into the living room. Allura is reclining on the couch with a pink stripped bikini and a white coverup hanging around her waist, there’s a six pack sitting perched on her lap like a baby and a second by her feet, her hair is in a braided bun on the top of her head and her sunglasses are tucked into the front string of her top hanging next to her camera strapped around her neck. Lance takes a moment to compose himself before he makes his presence known because, although he doesn’t have romantic feelings for her anymore, he still can’t deny that she’s no doubt the most beautiful woman the world has ever been graced with. “Lookin’ good,  _ Princess. _ ” He jokes with a fingergun in her direction. She flashes him a smile before she goes back to looking at her phone. 

“You have exactly two seconds to tell me where my flipflops are before I render you infertile.” Lance jumps when Veronica’s voice reaches him and he quickly raises his free hand in surrender when she approaches him with malicious purpose, wearing a tank top and shorts and masked by her large sunhat and sunglasses.

“I dunno! I dunno! Check the front door!” Lance pleas, he lifts a leg to defend himself from the oncoming attack that doesn’t come. 

Instead Veronica merely smirks, stopping just before him and then produces the articles in question from behind her back, “Trick question!” She beams at him as Lance shoots her a harsh glare, “Just making sure you’re awake and ready to go.”

Lance sticks his tongue out at her and repeats in a whining baby voice,  _ “Just making sure you’re awaaaake.”  _ She smacks him with one of her shoes before she lets them drop to the floor to be put on. 

“Romelle should be here pretty soon. I’m going to ride with her so we don’t have to stick Lance in Pidge’s trunk again.” Allura states with a no nonsense tone, rising from her place on the couch while not looking up from her phone.

Lance puffs up his chest and shoots Veronica’s smirking face a glare, “Heck no, I wouldn’t get in there again if you paid me! It’d be your turn to ride trunk anyway!”

Veronica rolls her eyes and scoffs right as there’s a knock on the door. Allura immediately perks and rushes to it, picking up the two sets of six packs with her. Lance can hear Romelle’s bell like voice answer her when she opens the door, the sound of a scuffle, then Allura shouting, “We’ll meet up with you at the usual spot!” Lance and Veronica make noise of affirmation as the door closes, and they’re left alone.

Lance turns to his sister and shrugs his board closer to his body under his arm, “If you’re ready we should head downstairs to wait for Pidge and Hunk.” 

“Good idea. For once.” Lance tries to bash her in the side with his board but she dodges out of the way just in time with a wild cackle, once they’ve made a few more playful swipes at each other they leave the suite and head down the stairs to the main lot of their apartment complex, waiting for Pidge’s station wagon to come rolling around the bend.

It does about ten minutes later, blasting  _ Low _ by Flo Rida from its open windows like it’s 2008. Both Hunk and Pidge are wearing shades, Hunk’s in a tank that Lance got him for Christmas that says  _ sun’s out gun’s out  _ and Pidge is wearing green swim trunks with a matching green binder. As they pull up next to the siblings Pidge drops their sunglasses down their nose to reveal their normal glasses beneath them, they yell over the music with a wry smirk,  _ “Get in, losers, we’re going surfing!”  _

Thankfully, Hunk turns down the music after they’ve finished shouting before he gets out to help Lance get his board on the roof. It’s been a long time since they’ve had to strap it down, but muscle memory kicks in and it just makes the excitement in Lance’s veins climb, once he’s sitting in the back seat next to Veronica he finds he’s bouncing his leg so hard it makes the car rock. He doesn’t recognize it either until Pidge shoots him a glare in the rearview mirror, and only then does he try and sate his shaky nerves in another way, this time by worming his hands into the hem of his shirt. A shirt he’s gonna discard because he’s going  _ surfing.  _ For the first time in  _ two years.  _ Lance isn’t sure if he’s nervous or excited yet. 

They park in the back of the lot because it’s full of other beach goers, but they don’t much mind the longer walk because compared to the family of five on the other side of the dual lot from them they’re traveling relatively light. Lance grabs his board from the roof as Hunk and Veronica grab some foldable chairs and towels from the back, and once Pidge has the team’s lunch, in a large cooler that Lance helps to carry on one side to as to ease the load, they head towards the water. 

Romelle and Allura meet up with them right by the sandy entrance with a cooler between them much like the one Pidge and Lance are carrying, save this one is for drinks, Romelle carries a tall umbrella to shield the group from the Cali sun. Romelle’s cut her hair since Lance last saw her about a week ago, it’s now just above her shoulders in a flowery flounce and the tips are dyed a gentle lilac; like Allura’s she’s wearing a bikini top as a shirt, save this one is purple, and jean shorts with the top button undone in preparation for it to be kicked off when they arrive at their destination. 

Lance’s heart is in his throat, he’s excited beyond belief but as he passes the number of people going to the beach, families mostly bouncing and jostling their posse’s together as they head to the waters, he tries to suppress the sudden bout of nerves that arise.  _ Great. An audience of strangers.  _

“Hey, Lance!” Romelle cries excitedly upon seeing him, waving a hand over her head to flag the group down. He flashes her a bright smile as a greeting with his arms occupied and once they’re close Romelle and Allura lift up their cooler together, the full group make their way into the sand. 

“Usual spot?” Pidge asks with a questioning look thrown over at Lance, quickly he nods while jutting his chin down the beach side, away from the pier. 

Their ‘usual spot’ is part of the beach where the good waves usually are; they haven’t gone really since Lance quit surfing, but they went so often beforehand that even the long break didn’t take away the innate memories imprinted in the sant. To Lance’s relief this part of the beach is largely deserted, save for thrill seeking wave jumpers, because the grand majority of the tourists on the sand today are families. It’s a bit more walking for them to get there because it’s in between the two parking lots on this part of Hermosa, but to Lance it’s well worth it when they see less and less tents along their path. Less and less people. He’s decided by now; he’s most certainly nervous.

Pidge sets down their end of the cooler in a rather empty stretch of sand right in front of the cresting waves, so Lance does the same. Unanimously without discussion the group decides that this is the claimed spot for the day, so they go about laying out their towels, unfolding their chairs, and setting up their umbrella before they unpack lunches to picnic together. It’s light hearted and fun all around, jokes thrown across the montage of towels, funny anecdotes from Romelle, Allura, and Veronica about their jobs, from Pidge and Hunk about college, Lance offers a few horror stories from the surf shop as they eat and it’s…  _ nice.  _

They get together relatively often, though it’s really hard to get six adults’ schedules to align up enough to do something like this on short notice, but as Lance notices Veronica glancing at his board sitting behind him, Romelle being rather pushy in getting him to drink a Gatorade, and the choice of chicken sandwiches rather than Hunk’s go-to light stuff like cucumber sandwiches for beach days… he realizes they probably made this happen because they were excited for more than just a fun get together. Maybe it’s because they’re excited that Lance has started surfing again.

_ … No pressure.  _

Once he’s finished eating Lance sits and jokes with the others for a little while longer, sipping water and Gatorade as he waits for the food to settle, but before long the drumming of the waves behind him start to call to him. The sound is getting louder and louder and the drag of the sea salt on his tongue getting more and more tangible, he can’t wait any longer. If there ever is a time to be ready, it’s now. He gets up from the towel during a lull in the conversation and dusts the sand off his hands, moving around to his board and attaching the leash to his ankle in a nonchalant manner so as to not draw too much attention from the others.

It utterly fails. Immediately Hunk gasps,  _ “Oh my crow, it’s happening, it’s happeniiiiing!”  _ Veronica throws an orange peel at him in response with a playful smirk, to which he ducks and it hits Allura instead.

“Be careful!” Romelle warns with her hands planted in her lap as Allura shoots warning daggers at a now sheepish Veronica, “The waves look kind of big today!”

Pidge smirks and winks in her direction, “That’s what she said.”

Allura breaks eye contact with Veronica to look over at them with absolute confusion, “... How is that at all an innuendo?”

Lance smirks and sees his chance, shooting a finger gun at her and then at Pidge, “It is if you think about it  _ hard  _ enough.” 

Allura picks up the orange peel that had been thrown at Hunk and then slings it at him instead. He swipes it to the towel and then blows a raspberry at her before he lifts up his board, without further ado he heads to the water with a pep in his step. 

As soon as the seawater laps at his ankles he lets out a full body shiver in delight, the foam crusts along his skin and then evaporates with the next tug of the tide and it’s one of the greatest sensations in the world… and Lance finds that he’s ready for more. He’s made a decision; he’s no longer nervous, he’s excited. 

He plunges deeper, up to his knees; the water is still a little chilly, Lance is breaking out in goosebumps, but he knows that once he’s submerged he’ll get used to it, so he bites the bullet right off the bat and ducks down all the way into the water when a wave crashes over him to hurry the process. Once he passes by the wave jumpers, the water gets deep enough that he has to jump onto his board and paddle out further. He needs to the sweet spot between waves so he can hunt for his first. 

Once he arrives to his destination he lets his arms rest, his feet dangling in the water comfortably and he flickers his gaze to the shore. Allura and Romelle are in the water, they’re easy to spot thanks to their colorful (or in Allura’s case technically colorless) hair, splashing each other. Pidge is pulling Hunk to his feet from under the umbrella where Veronica reclines on a towel next to the umbrella to soak in the sun. He watches as Pidge and Hunk line up and then sprint into the waves, running through the water, past Allura and Romelle, until they either get crushed by a wave or fall down from the momentum, they disappear behind a crest of water. When it passes, he sees them lifting their heads from the depths and the loud laughter from the collective can be heard from his place further in. It makes Lance’s chest flutter in warmth at seeing his friends having fun, but it also doubly relaxes his nerves because this means they aren’t just gonna sit there and watch him. Not that he was really expecting them to. It’s just nice when his momentary assumptions are wrong.

He turns his attention back to the waves. The smaller ones that form by the sandbar bob beneath him as the larger ones formed from the deeper waters start to crest just ahead of him, breaking just behind him, so it gives him plenty of seconds to consider  _ this wave? No, next wave, maybe this one?  _

One begins to rise before him and his chest surges. It’s an innate thing, knowing which wave is the right wave, it’s hard to describe but it’s easy to feel; he acts without thinking and starts to paddle into the wave. As it starts to crest and break he catches its pull and leaps to his feet, and much to his relief he doesn’t immediately slip and eat it like he did two days prior. He focuses on maintaining his balance, relying on muscle memory until his brain can kick in by carves and slides along the top and bottom, riding the wave down the beach. He wants to try a small trick but he doesn’t want to get too greedy too fast, to start off slow, but he can’t resist doing a small double back and turn nonetheless. As he reaches the wave’s end he uses his remaining momentum to bounce and hop on the wave before letting himself go from it, letting the seafoam run away from him. He lets out a relieved breath, a giant grin on his face and without a second’s thought he lets out a whoop and pumps his fist in the air. He hears a chorus of the same sound and when he looks up he sees his friends standing in knee deep water by the shore, mimicking his move with equally wide smiles. 

It only makes him smile wider.

… 

He rides as many waves as he can until his limbs are killing him and his core is trembling from maintaining his balance for so long, doing all those tricks and moves as he rides wave after wave. He only wipes out twice, but they weren’t due to a stupid mistake on his part so he can’t find it in him to be upset about it. Once he reaches that point of exhaustion he uses a wave crashing to take him to shore, he nearly takes Pidge out with his board as he rides in on the seafoam before he can roll off his board and collapse, literally on the shoreline. 

“Dude, that was awesome!” Lance opens his eyes, shielding them from the sun with a hand to see Hunk hovering over him with his hands on his hips and a bright smile on his round, friendly face. 

He sits up with a wink and a fingergun in his direction, tugging on his leash to pull his surfboard to him before unstrapping it from his ankle as water pushes against where he sits in the sand. 

“I got a few good pictures if you want to see them.” Allura offers, when Lance looks up at her she holds up the camera hanging around her neck with a questioning raise in her brow.

“I got some video of that one bit when you did that tail slide, too.” Pidge says as Lance stands up, when he looks over at them he sees them looking with narrowed eyes at their phone, trying to shield its screen from the sunlight so that they can see it.

He nods and moves to look over their shoulder, perching his board up in the sand, “Heck yeah, play i-”

_ “Oh no.”  _ The group collectively stalls their current actions as Allura swears under her breath in a deadly serious tone. When Lance turns to see her looking back towards hence they came originally he follows her gaze to see a small troupe of people heading in their direction. He also internally groans because  _ yay more people to encroach on their spot,  _ but he can’t imagine what would elicit that…  _ strong  _ of a reaction in her, since he only sees it as a mild annoyance… until he sees their faces. 

There are seven of them total, only five that Lance recognizes, but his eyes zone in on the man with the long, pale blond hair and the sleek Ray-Bans, carrying nothing while his accomplices are laden like pack mules.  _ No way. _

Hunk sucks in breath beside Lance and whisper-yells in his ear, “Whoa, holy shit, is that-?” 

Lotor lowers the sunglasses that cost more than Lance’s weekly paycheck down to look at their collective with a curious raise in his brow once he’s close, Allura stiffens as soon as his gaze falls on her, “My, my, Allura? Is that you? It’s been a long time, how are you?”

“Not long enough it seems.” Allura grumbles under his breath as he approaches, too far for him to have heard her. Behind him the other people in his party set down their stuff and begin setting up much like Lance and his friends had… which means they’re here to stay.  _ Goddamnit.  _ Lance swears internally to himself. The last thing he needs is snobby jerks he doesn’t even know watching him surf. 

Lance recognizes the four girls of Lotor’s party behind him after a few seconds of staring; the girl with the arm muscles that could snap Lance’s back is Zethra, her hair is still buzzed and her jaw is still as sharp as a knife, Ella with the blond hair and pig tails like that little twerp from Spy Kids 2, Alexa, the quiet one, and the last girl Lance remembers seeing her name on an Instagram post, Narti. She has a black emotional support cat that comes with her everywhere and he can see it now, perched on her shoulders like a hawk, and frankly Lance has gotta admit, she seems to have a pretty cool vibe. All of them are in swim suits except for the other two people who Lance figure to be simple lackeys, as they’re just keeping their heads down and setting up their stuff, putting up surf board after surf board on a rack while the four girls clutter together, Ella kicks up sand at Zethra, who laughs and kicks it back where she stands behind a stone-faced Alexa. They’re all dressed to get in the water save for Narti, who has a black shawl draped around her thin frame and jean shorts underneath, with the cat riding on her shoulders she looks very much like a classical witch; Zethra, Ella, and Alexa are in matching surf suits with the Galra logo etched on the front, just like Lotor himself. Once they notice that he is not with them and is now speaking to Lance’s party, however, they regather themselves and move to flank him. 

“Here for the waves? I never thought you would be interested in surfing.” Lotor continues with a suave,  _ laissez-faire _ vibe, taking off his sunglasses and perching them on top of his head. He pushes his straight, light blond, almost white hair out of his face as he joins their silent collective like he belongs here. 

“I’m not.” Allura answers simply with her chin held high and her shoulders back, Lance internally wonders at how he could’ve forgotten that Allura dated… _him._ Of _all_ people, Lance sees him as the _last_ of her type, he’s so… _snotty._ And _privileged._ Not that there’s anything wrong with having resources and using them; it’s just that there’s this pretentiousness that comes with knowing you’ll never have to work a day in your life to live comfortably that Lotor just _radiates,_ and that makes Lance’s nose curl. Also makes him happy that Allura found Romelle. He can’t imagine her being happy with him. Or maybe he can… he doesn’t know Lotor personally after all, just from their social media posts and the headlines they crack, which is usually about some scandal or another. He recognizes his bias that comes from a lack of information in that respect… but it’s hard to try and look past it when Lotor just _screams_ the bad vibes his internet presence gives off.

Veronica has now joined Lance, Hunk, and Pidge where they hover just behind Allura, as Lance looks over at Veronica he sees her give the group of girls behind Lotor a once over before she whispers softly to Lance, “He’s a bit of a  _ jamonero _ .” Veronica’s gaze flickers in Lotor’s direction, “Isn’t he?” 

_ “Realmente no.” _ Lance huffs with his arms crossed as he whispers back,  _ “Solo apesta a dinero.” _

“Oh, my favorite kind.” Veronica grumbles with full on snark as she rests her book on her hip, her gaze now moving to settle on Alexa standing behind him with her arms crossed and with a set expression, like she’s staring down with highway patrol.

Romelle steps in as Lotor and Allura seem to literally be having some sort of eye-level, nonverbal back and forth, her tone is as polite as ever and Lance would’ve never guessed she was speaking to her girlfriend’s ex as she gestures behind her at Lance and his trio of friends around him, “No, but our friend Lance just got back into surfing. We came to support him, and made a day of it.” 

Lotor’s silvery gaze like daggers settles on Lance and although he hates to admit it, he’s a little cowed beneath it. He kind of wants to punch himself for it though, so the feeling fades rather quickly as Lotor smiles politely, “Oh, I see. What good friends you have, that they’ll to set aside time in your busy lives to endorse your hobby.”

Lance can’t help but bristle. “It’s not a ‘hobby’.” He huffs, his hand on his board tightens as he meets the other man’s even gaze on an attempt at equal ground, an idea pops into his head and he’s running with it before he can properly screen it, “I’m gonna be surfing at the ISF Festival this year!”

Beside him Lance hears Hunk squeak in a manner that’s barely audible, it would’ve been louder if Pidge hadn’t elbowed him in the gut before any sufficient sound came out. Beside Lotor, Ella lets out an enthusiastic laugh, one of her elbows draping off of Lotor’s slender shoulders as she tilts her head to the side, regarding Lance with the same expression as a little girl regards a puppy that just faceplanted on the sidewalk, “Oh, aren’t you cute! Ready to play with the big kids?”

Lotor waves a hand to quell her, she recedes but still continues to beam like a kid at a carnival. Lance swears the top of his head steams. “Now, don’t be hasty.” Lotor purrs, “I’m sure that he wouldn’t speak so proudly if he didn’t have any legs to stand on.” Lotor’s gaze briefly flickers to Allura, there’s a pensive light within them that Lance doesn’t care for  _ at all  _ as he turns to look back at him once more, “Let’s see it, then. A little competition, just between friends.” He flashes Lance a charming smile, he snaps his fingers to the side and it’s almost like a spell does a longboard appear in his hands, Lance blinks as Lotor plants the perfectly polished nose in the sand and leans a hand gracefully on his hip as he tilts his head to regard the dark skinned boy before him, “What say you?”

Allura lets out an annoyed huff as one of her hands winds into Romelle’s, “This is really not-” 

“Oh, it’s on.” The others around Lance look at him like he just grew two heads, he reaches down and reattaches his leash to his ankle before he pushes his hair out of his face with a set expression, “Bring it.” 

Alexa lets out a sigh with her crossed arms unmoving from across her chest, “How are you supposed to compete? You need judges for that.”

“Then we shall keep it simple.” Lotor answers with a suave tone of simplicity, his gaze flitting to Lance’s, “The winner achieves the most number of tricks in three waves. The riskier they are, the more they attribute for our…  _ ‘final score’. _ ” He cocks an eyebrow at Lance as his competitive spirit drums in his blood and thunders in his head, “Does that sound like a fair deal?”

Lance merely smirks with a raise in his brow, “Just three waves? You’re going down.” 

“Uh, Lance?” He turns to Hunk as he pulls on his arm, slightly tugging him aside as Lotor and his gang flock to the water. “You sure this is a good idea?” He taps his fingertips together after he lets Lance go with a sheepish expression, “I mean, you  _ just  _ got back into this. Like, today.”

“What’s it matter?” Pidge huffs, joining in their whispering discussion, “It’s not like this counts for your score or anything.” 

“Yeah, except for pride.” Veronica mumbles in response, Lance glances over at her to see her watching Lotor’s group by the water, “Which matters a lot to the fragile male ego.” 

Lance huffs, “Hey, my ego isn’t fragile!” 

Allura frowns as she regards him with a scrutinizing gaze, “Lance, what are you trying to prove?”

Lance blinks, as do the others as they slowly turn to face him expectantly. Surprisingly, Lance doesn’t have a clever quip or something to say about it, so instead he decides to leave before the comment sends him spiraling somewhere he doesn’t know. He grips his board and starts for the water, leaving his friends behind with a final word, “It’s gonna be fine guys, I got this!”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Lance!” Pidge calls helpfully as Lance plunges into the chilly waves with fresh purpose. There’s absolutely no  _ way  _ he’s backing down from a trick-off - he supposes he could call it a trick-off - with Lotor. Although he’s a bit of a prick, Lotor’s still one of the best around, his score is somewhere in the 9’s. For Lance, this is the perfect opportunity to show that he’s still got it. Especially because the rules are so loose, just a number of tricks? In three waves? There’s no way he could fuck this up, especially not with how he’s been surfing today.  _ The practice the day before yesterday must have really helped, _ he thinks to himself as he delves into the waves,  _ if I’m already cocky enough to think I can beat Lotor after not surfing for years.  _

Lotor’s already out in the sweet spot by the time Lance gets there, evaluating the waves with a critical eye. The sun reflects off of his darkened shoulders, a warm bronze like a shiny penny among the waters. He turns to face him once he’s close and offers him a charismatic smile on a silver platter, “Now it’s just you and me. Still feeling confident?”

“Always.” Lance replies immediately, even though now he’s feeling the exact opposite.  _ ‘What are you trying to prove?’ _

_ That I can still do this.  _ Lance thinks to himself,  _ that my dream isn’t out of reach.  _

“I see.” Lotor faces the waves with fresh attention, his hands resting splayed upon his impressive longboard, “Well as they say, then may the best man win.” Without another word Lotor suddenly twists and starts to paddle as a wave begins to swell, Lance stays out of the way as the other surfer gets into the wave. Then he starts counting tricks. One. Two. Three. Four.  _ Shit that one was a Superman, that’s tough to beat…  _ Six. The wave ends, and Lotor starts paddling backwards to prime position.  _ Shit.  _ Lance swears at himself internally.  _ Hunk was right. What have I gotten myself into? _

He looks for his first wave, and once one looks like it’ll crest nicely he starts to paddle into it. It takes him a second to get acclamated to the wave’s pull, a second that he could be using to  _ do a trick, damnit, he needs to top six.  _ So he tries. He pulls a simple off the top,  _ one, _ then a round off,  _ two,  _ he tries for a 360 but ends up doing a 240 and a swerve,  _ three, it’s fine it looked intentional I think,  _ his trademark rodeo,  _ four, oh no the wave is ending, fuck fuck-  _ He doesn’t get another chance for another move as the wave laxes and he has to escape it or risk getting eaten by the foam. Reluctantly he paddles back to the starting point. 

Lotor greets him with a smile, “Not bad. You move well.”

“Thanks.” Lance eyes the other with scrutiny. He sounds genuine, but he also seems like a faker to the core so it’s hard for Lance to tell. It takes one to know one after all but Lotor  _ projects  _ an image of niceties; Lance hides his insecurities with his.  _ Which no one ever needs to know. _

Lotor and Lance drift there for a few minutes, waiting for the good waves. Lance watches one begin to swell and it sparks that feeling of  _ yes this is it,  _ so he follows it and starts to paddle into it. He’s just about to jump onto his board when he hears a bark, “On your right!” Lance snaps his board back barely in time for Lotor to glide through, catching the wave just before him. Lance almost eats it when the wave almost breaks on top of him, but with a few rough paddles he makes it back to the in between space with a few pants. 

It’s not uncommon for miscommunications to happen when it comes to wave-grabbing, but what’s  _ supposed  _ to happen is when a surfer starts for a wave then everyone else hangs back, it’s what you’d call etiquette. Lance didn’t think he saw Lotor heading for the wave, so he finds himself watching his moves with a peeved stir in his gut. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. And they were  _ good  _ ones too, difficult and well executed, which just makes Lance more annoyed. The wave ends and Lotor’s on his way back, Lance’s heart clambers into his throat. But he can still do this; there are two waves left. 

He hitches the next wave that comes without waiting to see if it’ll turn out good, which of  _ course  _ it doesn’t. Lance paddles into it but it crests too slowly, he’s left behind well before it breaks and he has to make the swim of shame back to the start, right as Lotor’s returning. “Good moves.” Lance says with a polite nod in his direction. He’s trying not to let his souring competitive spirit get to him, but it’s getting harder the more he looks at Lotor’s greasy, charming grin. 

“Naturally.” His voice is smooth as fine wine and Lance fucking hates it. As soon as the next wave comes he’s on it, and this time he makes sure he gets into its tug. He leaps to his feet and immediately sets out for tricks, he  _ has  _ to rack up those tricks,  _ five,  _ his abs shake as he twists about harder than they were prepared for,  _ six, seven, eight, nine, oh fuck no the wave is ending-  _ Lance growls to himself as he has to double back to get out of the crash zone, swearing as he makes his way back to the start. Bright side is he’s only two tricks behind, but those moves were sloppy, and he knows it. But that’s not what matters here, what matters is the  _ number _ , Lance has got to get that number. 

Lotor is still waiting by the time Lance makes it back, but he doesn’t want to wait for him to get the wave he needs next. Lance needs to rack them up  _ now,  _ before the rounds are up. He’s still catching his breath by the time the next wave comes but he doesn’t care, he paddles into it anyway despite how his arms strongly disagree, they didn’t get to stretch, they didn’t really get to rest either, and they’re not thanking him. He gets into the flow right as the wave starts to crest and that’s when his luck gives out; as soon as he leaps to his feet the wave starts to break earlier than when Lance was expecting and his board slips out from beneath his feet. 

He gasps but immediately swallows a gallon of seawater, his lungs scream as he claws through the turbulent water, it feels like he’s a small rubber duck in a hurricane getting thrown about as it pleases, he feels something hard hit his back as he goes and he winces as he tries to gather his bearings, the salt water stings his eyes and makes his lungs  _ hurt _ , like hot lava sitting in his chest, a strong hand grabs his arm,  _ air.  _

Lance chokes as he’s pulled from the grasp of the sea, spitting up seawater as he’s tugged along, he only realizes where he is once he’s practically collapsed on the wet shoreline because he’s too busy coughing his lungs out and wringing them dry. 

“Lance! Jesus Christ, are you okay?” He’s pulled into an upright position by two warm hands, shadows pass over and Lance finally gets his bearings. Lotor’s sitting right in front of him, Lance realized that he must’ve been the one who pulled him out, and beside him all of his friends have flocked with worried expressions. 

“‘M fine!” Lance waves them off before he’s hit with another bout of coughing, Lotor slaps his back a few times to ease the water out. 

“You wiped out pretty hard right there.” Lotor’s tone is pitying, consoling, “You must have gotten worn out too fast. There’s no shame in taking it slowly, you know.”

Lance’s face burns as Lotor stands, now that Lance has somewhat recovered. Romelle touches his shoulder and gives him a cold Gatorade, which he takes gratefully and gulps to rid his mouth of the wretched taste of seawater as Lotor’s friends join them. Ella clasps her hands together with a pitying gaze down on Lance, “Aww, are you gonna be okay? Do you need us to call someone?” Once again it sounds to Lance like she’s being genuine, but his own embarrassment is cranked so hard that she sounds nothing but pitying and condescending.

“We’ve got him, thanks.” Veronica responds with a steely tone, Lance feels her presence where she stands behind his seat in the sands. 

Lotor nods respectfully before he looks down upon Lance with a look much like the school’s guidance counselor whenever Lance would have to go see her, “I hope you feel better. It was fun while it lasted… but a word of advice: give it a few years practice before you try to surf at the ISF. Starting off with a bad score makes things that much harder later on.” Genuine. Like he’s actually trying to be helpful. Lance’s face heats up to a new degree, his fingers dig into the sands on either side of him.

As the small party turns away from them Zethra scoffs, and although it’s spoken softly in a manner not meant to be heard it’s more like a stage whisper that everyone  _ can  _ hear as she grumbles, “Yeah, as if there’s a ‘later’.” 

Lance and his friends stay quiet as they walk off to their tent, getting under the shade and passing around drinks with merry chatter like they didn’t just do…  _ that.  _

Hunk immediately becomes conciliatory. “Hey man, don’t worry about what they said, shit happens.”

“Yeah, they’re just being jerks.” Pidge grumbles with a hint of anger on the fringes of her words as she digs her gaze into their tent across the way. 

“Make sure to keep drinking up, Lance.” Romelle hums in a concerned tone with her hands resting on the top of Lance’s steaming head. Lance obediently takes a sip, his mind is reeling. It wasn’t a loss in the eyes of their competitive rules, but it is in Lance’s head. But it doesn’t upset him, not in the despairing way when he got his score back from the judges. 6.00 even. No, no, it’s not like that at all. Although his lungs have stopped burning, a brand new fire has started elsewhere, in his gut, in his chest. 

He was totally talking a load of shit about going to the ISF festival tournament. He doesn’t even know where the thought came from, it wasn’t remotely on his mind up until this point because he was adamant with himself about  _ taking things slowly.  _

But fuck going slow. Fuck  _ all  _ of that. 

He wanted to prove to himself that he can do it. That he can still surf, that his dream is still out there waiting for him to claim it. And goddamnit, Lance is  _ going  _ to prove it… but not here. Not at this little competition. 

Lance was totally talking a load of shit about going to the ISF festival tournament. But not anymore. Lance is going to sign up for the tournament, he’s going to beat Lotor into the sand and prove to everyone once and for all that he’s got that  _ spark _ , the spark that all legendary surfers have. 

He’s going to sign up for the tournament. 

… 

The squad pack up their stuff pretty much immediately afterwards and decide to head out to dinner to unwind and recuperate, and eventually Lance realizes that it’s also to distract Lance from that  _ utter embarrassment.  _ It’s the subtle things, really, Hunk suggesting his favorite place, Veronica offering to pay for him, Pidge talking about what they’ve got going on in the lab tomorrow. But Lance doesn’t want to be distracted. He’s never felt so focused. 

“Okay, I have to ask…” Hunk taps his fingers together on the tabletop as they sit in the round table in the back of the bar, sipping on drinks and enjoying the company, “... Were you seriously considering doing the ISF tournament again? So soon?”

Romelle smiles sheepishly and shrugs, answering on Lance’s behalf, “Well, it has been two years, that’s not too outlandish.” 

“After not surfing for two years it is.” Pidge huffs in response with their arms crossed, leaning back in their seat as they canvas the room. 

“Okay, well, nonetheless,” Hunk huffs, waving the pair down as he refocuses on Lance, “That was something you just pulled out to tell him off, right?”

Lance flickers his gaze across the table only briefly before he shakes his head. “No. I’m gonna do it.” 

The reaction is immediate. “Wait,  _ what?”  _ Pidge cries, blinking as they lean forward with their elbows on the table, “You’ve been surfing again for like, what, two days? And you’re gonna join the  _ biggest tournament on the west coast?”  _

“Is that even possible at this point?” Allura asks with an incredulous noise, taking a long sip from her second Long Island. Lance doesn’t blame her for it; he doubts seeing her ex made her day all that great, especially when he basically snatched Lance’s wig and dragged his face through the dirt all while wearing a charming smile.

Pidge pauses at this and chew on the inside of their cheek, “I mean… registration’s close in two weeks…” 

“I dunno if this is a good idea, man.” Hunk furrows his eyebrows again with worry as he regards Lance with chocolate eyes melting in the yellowed lights, “This feels kinda rushed.” 

Lance sets his brow and shakes his head sternly, the fire burning in his chest only fanned by the words of his friends, “I told you guys that I’m back into surfing. That means competitions… and I’m ready for it.” He sits back a bit, snatching one of the communal nachos they ordered before he tacks on, “Besides, I gotta show up Lotor somehow. And doing it in front of the world would be nice.”

“I’m all for it.” Lance blinks at his sister as she pipes up from where she was sitting, silently looking down into her glass, “But you’ve got to be real with yourself on this. You need to train. Hard. I don’t know shit about surfing and even I can see that.”

Lance gives her a half-assed glare. He knows she’s right; how he surfed today… it was for the move count only, not the quality. Probably would’ve earn him a generous 6.00 even. But that still doesn’t mean he has to like the truth being preached at him. “... Alright, that’s fair,” He grumbles before he swings his gaze to Pidge, “What do you say, coach? Ready for the training regime?”

Pidge huffs and shakes their head, “Dude with this internship I don’t have the time.” Lance can’t help but feel a little crestfallen at this, though he understands what they’re saying completely; it’d be selfish of him to demand so much of their time when they’ve got other things to do, important things that matter to them. “Besides,” Lance looks back up at them as they continue after a sip of their drink, “I don’t think I can cut it. I only know surfing from videos and stuff… If you really wanna win this competition, you’ve gotta get yourself a teacher. I mean a  _ real  _ teacher.” 

Lance scoffs, “I’m  _ so  _ not taking those lame classes they offer on the beach, those cost a fortune! And they’re for tourists!”

“Well, you don’t have to do it that way.” Hunk cuts in with a slightly sheepish shrug, “You can ask around with other surfers or something.” 

Lance sighs and gives Hunk a helpless wave of his hands, “I don’t know any other surfers. Not well enough to ask them to help me out, anyway.” 

“Wait a tick,” Allura suddenly straightens, turning to face him as she swirls her straw in her glass, “At the Castle of Lions… the person who lives there now, I remember you telling us about him, how you were competitors at your first heat.”

Lance grimaces and then burns up at the thought right as Hunk gasps dramatically, “Oh my God, yeah! Keith! I remember, his brother’s Shiro! Maybe he can get you in contact with him, he doesn’t surf anymore but the guy’s a  _ legend!” _

“As if he’d help him out for free.” Pidge grumbles in response, pulling out their phone and scrolling through what looks like Instagram based off of the reflection in their round glasses, “Besides, he lives in Houston now.”

Lance chews on his lip in thought, as he grabs another chip he meets Hunk’s eyes and immediately he groans, “No, no, don’t say it-”

Hunk raises an eyebrow at Lance and says it, “You could always ask Keith to. He lives right there, and he looks like he’s good. I mean, he’s gotta be with Shiro as his brother, I’m sure he learned from him, so it’ll be like… second hand learning from Shiro. Right?”

“Wrong!” Lance cries indignantly, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, “There’s no way I’m asking that guy for help! He’s so… so…!”

“Alright then genius, what other ideas do you have?” Veronica cocks an eyebrow challengingly at him, and even though Lance is fuming internally just at the  _ thought  _ of asking that…  _ guy  _ for his  _ help…  _

Though as Lance thinks about it, he remembers their surprise meeting two days prior. He’d given him advice,  _ advice he didn’t ask for mind you,  _ but it was… perhaps decent.  _ Think ahead.  _ Lance did that earlier and did good… then he didn’t do it and ended up wiping out so hard he could’ve drowned. 

And as much as he hates to admit it… he doesn’t really have much else of an option. He doesn’t know anyone else, he never got into surfing circles and the tourist instructors are dickheads who are not only in it solely for the money but Lance has seen them and most of them are rudimentary at best, good at the basics but probably couldn’t do a decent tailslide. And thinking back to that fateful day two years ago… He doesn’t remember much for… obvious reasons… but he remembers Keith’s moves. How effortless they were, and frankly kind of impressive, as much as it hurts Lance to even think. 

“As if he’d say yes.” Lance huffs after a moment, waving dismissively with a hand, “He doesn’t even like me.”

“Well it doesn’t hurt to ask, right?” Romelle chips in with a bright smile, one that makes Lance almost believe that yeah, you’re right, it  _ doesn’t  _ hurt to ask. Except it totally could. Keith could say  _ ‘Um, no way, fuck off, actually, literally do fuck off, no more surfing at the Castle for you’.  _ That would be worst case scenario. 

… But he doesn’t know unless he asks. 

_ For fucks sake.  _ “Alright, I guess.” Lance grumbles before he throws his hands in the air dismissively, “... But only because I’ve got no other choice!”

Pidge sighs, resting their chin in their hand as they regard Lance with a surprisingly serious expression, “I know you don’t like it, but you’re gonna need his help, dude. If you  _ really  _ wanna do this well, beat Lotor and all that… you’ve gotta commit. And be willing to work for it.”

Lance meets their gaze and after a moment of nonverbal understanding he slightly gives them a nod before he dives back into the nachos. The conversation diverges from there, but Lance keeps finding his thoughts gravitating back to the mullet guy in the shack in the woods. His only chance to train with a peer and really embrace his potential… If it’s for his dream, then he’ll do it. 

Even if it hurts his pride all over again to ask that asshole for help. 

… 

Lance doesn’t get a chance to head to the Castle until Saturday afternoon. He  _ could  _ have gone sooner… but he’s not gonna lie, he was kind of procrastinating. But he was only delaying the inevitable. It just took him two days to really get that. 

He doesn’t know if Keith will even be there. He doesn’t know his schedule, or whatever, but he’s gotta try. He’s kind of holding out on registering for the ISF until he recruits him; he’s still gonna do it, no question, but he’d feel better about it knowing he had a coach who knows what he’s doing on his side.  _ But there’s no way in hell he’s gonna call him coach.  _

… But that’s assuming he’ll even accept it. Which he might not. 

He gets out of the Uber when he arrives to the parking lot, grabs his board from the roof, and treks through the woods towards the Castle. The whole walk he goes back and forth from planning how exactly he’s gonna go about asking this almost perfect stranger to train him to telling himself  _ he’s probably not even there, I’m just getting my hopes up for nothing-  _

When he gets to the beach he peers through the trees towards the shed. He definitely notices that it’s refurbished now, after he sets his board down on the beach and walks towards it; the cracks in the walls are refinished, there’s new tile on the ceiling, there’s a light on the front door. He tells himself it looks empty and abandoned, until he looks in the fresh gravel kind-of-driveway-more-like-path in front of the house, specifically at the black and red motorcycle parked in front of it.  _ Fuck.  _ Lance swears internally.  _ So he is here.  _

Steeling his resolve, Lance heads towards the door and knocks. 

There isn’t an answer for a long while. Lance wonders whether he should knock again or leave right as the door slightly parts and a pair of suspicious violet eyes peer out through the cracked side. 

Lance smiles sheepishly but before he can offer a greeting Keith speaks in a husky, no-nonsense tone, “I told you you can just slide the money under the door.”

“Yeah, I know.” Lance huffs, furrowing his eyebrows, “Also, hi, nice to see you too.”

Keith gives Lance a once over briefly before he grumbles, “... So what do you want?”

_ Alright, here goes nothing.  _ Lance takes a steeling breath before he lets it out in a short burst while simultaneously swallowing his pride, “I want you to train me to get better at surfing.”

This is apparently the last thing that Keith expected him to say, as he slightly opens the door wider as his eyebrows raise in surprise, “... What?”

Lance clears his throat and crosses his arms, looking off to the side with a set jaw, “Yeah, okay, I want you to train me. ‘Cause like… you’re kinda good. And you’re Shiro’s brother so that means you’ve been around the best and know what the best looks like so um… don’t let it get to your head or anything, but-”

Keith lets out a sigh and starts to close the door, “I’m flattered, but Shiro’s in Houston and I don’t have time-”

Lance smacks a hand on the door to keep it from closing, granting him a glare from the dark haired man behind the door. “Listen, okay,” Lance huffs, swallowing harder as he tries and kind of fails to hide the desperation in his tone, “It’s not just because you’re Shiro’s brother, okay? You’re good. I remember that much from the tournament. And I kinda signed up to go to the ISF this year because I…” He sets his jaw, flickering his gaze to the side as he lets his hand fall from where he holds on the door, “... I just gotta do prove I can do it. And I wouldn’t ask unless I really thought you could help me do that.”

Keith eyes him with a muted expression, and to Lance’s surprise he doesn’t shut the door on him. Instead he taps his fingertips on the edge of the half opened door, the lights are off inside so Lance can’t see within, his eyes are cast to the side as if he’s giving this serious thought. “I’ll think about it.” Keith answers after a moment, his indigo eyes snapping back to Lance’s and inadvertently making his heart leap into his throat for reasons he can’t explain before he grunts, “Now you gonna pay or what?” 

Lance isn’t sure whether to be relieved yet. He pulls out the cash from his pocket and hands it over to Keith as he speaks quickly, “Yeah, yeah, here you go. Uh, and here’s my number, so you can uh… you know, text me when you decide.” Lance grabs the slip of paper he’d brought, just in case, and handed it over to him. He honestly can’t believe that he 1. Thought to write his number on the paper before just for this occasion and 2. Remembered to bring it with him. 

Keith takes the money first then slowly tugs on the slip of paper as an afterthought. Lance lets out a breath and turns away to head to the beach right as Keith calls, “This is $7.” 

Lance pauses and looks back at him with a raised eyebrow, “Yeah?”

Keith is half standing outside his door with the money at hand and with a confused expression, “I thought we agreed on $6.50.” 

Lance grins a bit crookedly and waves a hand dismissively as he continues to walk off, “Keep the change. Call that a ‘sorry for bothering you’ charge.” 

He doesn’t hear Keith respond as he heads to the water to surf a little - so he can unwind and get back into the habit - his sandalled feet bending the wild grasses as he goes. All he hears is the soft click as the door closes, and the sound of the pounding surf ahead of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *updates 23847 years later* hey  
> Next chapter is gonna be Keith's perspective, time to get to the GOOOD stuff.   
> If you're enjoying the story please do leave a kudos and/or a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts about the characterizations, favorite moments or lines, or really anything that caught your interest! I love to hear what you all have to say.


	4. Shoreline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith isn't entirely sure what to make of this whole 'trainer/trainee' situation he has found himself in. After he lost his third job since moving to California, it's not like he has anything better to do, and he could make some bank if he were to swallow this strange lump in his throat and accept this stranger's offer. Well, he isn't a stranger, not really, apparently they already knew each other. But nonetheless... Keith doesn't remember that anyway. The day they apparently met, he was a little... distracted.  
> All the more reason why he shouldn't take the job. The last thing he needs is to be near the water again.  
> Except something about this isn't just a job, just as this stranger isn't just 'some guy'. Something is different, something is changing... and Keith's terrified about what that could mean for his future.

Keith’s had a lot on his mind. 

From meeting and reconnecting with his birthmother, who’s someone he never thought would play a role in his life, then dealing with the consequences of his own actions after losing his third job in the span of three months… That guy was being an asshole and his manager _knew that…_ though it was the third complaint he got in a week. Then moving out to live on his own at Shiro’s behest. That’s another _‘dealing with the consequences of his own actions’_ bit. To put it mildly. So the last thing Keith thought he would get is _more_ surprises. 

But the universe has always loved proving him wrong. 

Although, he didn’t expect it to come in the form of a cute - but fucking _annoying_ \- Hispanic guy asking him for his help to train for the ISF tournament. Though now thinking about it, calling him ‘annoying’ isn’t really an accurate term. He’s more… rude. Not quite to the point he’s being mean - though the way he called his hair a _mullet_ with such disdain was definitely pushing it - but he’s not exactly _friendly_ either. Not that Keith expected him to be; he never expects anyone to be _friendly_ to him. He just doesn’t give off that _be friendly to me_ vibe. And he’s okay with that. It’s always been that way. 

But there’s something different about this guy. Something that Keith just can’t place. Which is why he has been thinking about him - no, his proposition - _constantly._ It’s the reason why he’s riding his bike to _the Tottering Teacup_ to mooch off that free wifi to FaceTime with Shiro and talk to him about it. 

He’d become a bit of a regular now. So long as he ordered something Beanie didn’t bother him when he would go on his phone. He called her Beanie because she wore a pink and orange beanie with a white pompom on the top everyday even though they’re in southern California and it’s never been below 60 degrees. He thinks idly that he should probably ask her for her name or something, but he’s not quite sure if that’s something that’s appropriate. He isn’t all that great at social cues, never has been, and after a while he stopped bothering trying to learn them. Again, why would he do that when he doesn’t give off that _be friendly to me_ vibe? 

Once he’s inside he goes up to the counter and orders a London Fog and one of those little walnut fig sandwiches before going to sit down at his usual spot, a small table in the back that’s facing the window with his back to the wall. He plays on his phone until Beanie calls for his order, then he eats in quiet contemplation with his brow set in a habitual frown as drums his fingertips on the table. 

Keith genuinely doesn’t remember this guy from the surfing competition - Lance is his name, it says so on the worried piece of paper in his leather jacket pocket - and frankly he’s shocked that the other does. Remember him, that is. Considering the day’s events, he would’ve thought that some supposed rival would’ve gotten… lost in the scuffle. 

Remembering the day makes Keith’s hand on the table clench into a fist and his teeth grit. With his hunger forgotten he sets down his half eaten sandwich and quickly puts his headphones in to call Shiro before he can dwell on the feeling further. 

It only rings twice before he answers. “Hey Keith.” Shiro hums as his face comes on screen, Keith automatically feels the tensed muscles in his shoulders ease. His presence has always been able to settle him. “How are you doing?”

Keith lets out a soft breath as he murmurs in a quiet voice, “Same shit, different day.”

Shiro smirks and lets out an amused chuckle. He’s sitting in his living room Keith can see, he doesn’t have headphones in so he’s either alone or his fiance, Adam, is the only other one home. “How’s the barkeep job?”

Keith frowns at this. He hadn’t told him about _that_ particular incident yet. 

However his silence seems to answer Shiro’s question, immediately he frowns at Keith in disapproval, “Don’t tell me you got fired again.” 

“... Okay, then I won’t.” 

Shiro gives him a tired look before he sighs, “Goddamnit, Keith.” 

He throws up a hand in indignation, “Okay but it wasn’t my fault this time!” Keith pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek before he lets out a sigh, “... Okay it might have been a little bit. But that jerk had it coming.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Shiro shakes his head, letting out another sigh as he slumps slightly back against his couch, “When I told you to take the world by storm I didn’t mean for you to take that literally.”

Keith can’t help but smirk a bit at that. “I don’t know what else you expected from me.” Shiro shakes his head and lets out a half hearted laugh as Keith’s voice grows more serious, “I’m sorry, I’m trying. It’s just… hard to find a place around here.” 

Shiro regards Keith for a long moment, his searching gaze flickering across the other’s features before he lets out a soft breath, “I know. But living in Cali is going to be good for you. Being by the ocean-” Keith bristles at this, so Shiro backs up a bit with an apologetic tone, “... And your mom is a better place to start over than others.”

“I guess.” Keith murmurs halfheartedly, looking down briefly to lift and lower his teabag to help it seep in his cup, even though it’s had more than enough time to do it on its own.

Shiro has always had a knack at reading others, especially Keith, so upon sensing his walls starting to come up he moves on to another topic, “... So what’s going on with you?”

Keith glances up at him and mutters, “Nothing much, really.”

“Oh yeah?” Shiro scoffs, looking off camera for a moment, “Your text didn’t seem like there’s ‘nothing much’ going on.”

Keith lets out a huff and settles his chin in his hand, the deep hues of his gaze drifting off to the wall beside him. He’s unsure where to begin with all this. _Best start at the very beginning_ he supposes. “Okay, it’s uh… There’s this guy-”

 _“Oh?”_ Shiro interrupts with a coy raise in his brow. 

Keith immediately shoots him a sharp glare, “Not like that.” He sighs briefly before he lets his free hand fall to drum against the table again with anxious energy, “I don’t know him, I’ve only seen him twice. But apparently he remembers me from the uh… the competition.”

Shiro immediately knows what he’s referring to. His gaze softens and seems to bore into Keith’s even from states away, “Keith-”

“I know.” Keith interrupts him quickly. After a beat of awkward silence he moves on before he can dwell upon _it_ , “That’s not important. It’s- he apparently uses the beach by my uh… my dad’s old place.”

“You’re still staying there?” Shiro’s eyebrows raise in surprise before he smiles, “Glad to see that the renovation wasn’t for nothing.” 

Keith rolls his eyes and continues after a brief pause, “A few days ago he showed up to surf and I told him to fuck off, though he’s the only one I’d seen try to use it, but instead he offered to pay to use it since I’m living there now, and uh…” Keith huffs. “I don’t know, it’s weird, okay? We’d only spoken the one time but he apparently remembers me and uh… Long story short he’s asked me to train him.” 

This obviously is not what Shiro was expecting as he visibly pauses, blinking at Keith stupidly for a solid few seconds before he tilts his head, “... Train him? To do what?” 

“To surf.” 

Shiro’s image on Keith’s screen adjusts as he appears to shift on the couch, “Well, if he was at the competition then he should have a basic knowledge-”

“I mean- yeah, he _does_ know how to surf.” Keith abridges with a wave of his hand, letting out an exasperated sigh, “He’s actually pretty good. He’s just uh… He’s doing the ISF and for some reason he thinks I can get him in shape. So he can have a chance, or something like that.” 

“... Okay.” Shiro replies after a long pause, his expression still rather perplexed, “So are you going to do it?”

Keith huffs and flickers his gaze across Shiro’s features, “... I don’t know.”

“Well, without a job you could use the extra cash.” 

Keith bristles, “I can get a job just about anywhere, Shiro! I don’t need this for that.” He doesn’t need to unpack on just how difficult it may be to find job number four around here, it’s not about that right now.

Shiro purses his lips for a moment before he proceeds in a gentle tone, “Well, if you didn’t want to help this guy you wouldn’t have wanted to talk to me about it. So what do you want me to tell you?”

“I don’t _want you_ to tell me anything.” Keith growls with annoyance. 

Shiro hesitates before he furrows his brow again, “Is this about your ‘promise’?” 

Keith frowns and doesn’t answer. His hand that was anxiously fiddling with the string from his teabag pauses and instead clenches into a fist on the tabletop. 

Shiro lets out a soft breath, his tone is tentative as he regards Keith seriously through the camera lens, “I’ve told you a hundred times and I’ll tell you a hundred times more. You can’t keep running from this.” Keith growls under his breath in annoyance but Shiro persists despite it, “Surfing was _good_ for you, Keith. I know you want to get back in the water. I think that’s why you’re tearing your hair out about this whole thing, otherwise you would’ve just told the guy no.” 

Keith huffs indignantly, “It’s not about that!”

“Okay, then what _is_ it about?” 

Keith pauses before he frowns deeper. He looks away from the camera, wishing that he’d decided just to call Shiro rather than FaceTime him. “... I’m just… not gonna be a good teacher.”

The other counters him expertly, “How do you know unless you try?” Keith shoots him a harsh glare, though its edge is blunted by the screen between them. 

After a few moments Shiro lets out a helpless sigh, “Listen… I can’t tell you what to do. This is something you’ve gotta decide for yourself.” Keith lets out a hard breath through his nostrils, but he listens as Shiro continues, “But if you want my opinion… I think you should trust your instincts.” 

Keith raises an eyebrow at this, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I think you’ve already made a decision.” Keith blinks at him with a lost look as Shiro meets his gaze with a confident, even expression, “But you’re scared to make that plunge. So trust yourself. Follow through.” 

They don’t speak of it any further after that. They talk a bit about Shiro’s new prosthetic that came in the other day, he shows it to him through the camera and Keith has gotta say that it’s pretty impressive, though looking at it twists his stomach inexplicably. After a while Shiro excuses himself and hangs up, leaving Keith with his thoughts and his second half of his sandwich in the back of _the Tottering Teacup._

In all honesty, the talk with Shiro helped Keith a lot less than he had hoped, though as he thinks about it he doesn’t know exactly what he expected. He feels his head buzzing like there are a bunch of gnats stuck between his ears, so he quickly finishes up his sandwich, cleans up after himself, then heads back outside. He starts his bike and then peels down the streets. Riding has always helped to clear his head, but right now it’s straightening himself out enough to think coherently. 

After Shiro had… recovered, he immediately asked Keith when he was going to get back in the water. Offered to be his manager. But he promised himself that he was never going to surf again. That was something they did together, and now Shiro could never do it again. After the competition… If he hadn’t decided to compete that day… if he hadn’t decided to compete at all… Shiro wouldn’t have gotten hurt. He wouldn’t have… lost his arm. 

He wasn’t going to allow what he wanted to hurt anyone else ever again. 

Shiro was less than pleased. He wasn’t upset, he just doesn’t see the correlation and he doesn’t think that Keith should give up ‘just because of him’. But he didn’t understand. Just looking at the waves made Keith sick to his stomach after that. Though luckily he didn’t have to, as he followed Shiro to Texas to help with his recovery. Though moving back to California a couple months ago has returned the feeling, it’s not nearly as intense. It makes his stomach ache, but in a different way. A way that Keith doesn’t care for in the slightest. 

But after two years Shiro told him that Keith couldn’t continue catering to him anymore. That he needed his own life to live, one that didn’t depend on taking care of Shiro. Keith didn’t agree at first. Even when his birth mom reached out to him, he didn’t want to leave Shiro behind. That is until Adam came into Shiro’s life. Then and only then did Keith reconsider; seeing the two of them together, Shiro’s constant, warm smiles, coming back to the apartment to see the two asleep, cuddling on the couch with some dumb movie playing on the TV… he realized that he wasn’t needed anymore. He was just holding Shiro back from his own life by dwelling on the past. 

Like the universe was confirming this for him, the lawyers came, having finally traced his - apparently deceased - birth father back to him. They informed him of the inherited land in southern Cali, in Hermosa. It was the place where it began. They were asking for his permission to let the land be claimed by the government but they couldn’t without family permission because of the state of his birth father’s will. 

So he said his favorite phrase: ‘Fuck what the government wants’... and returned.

He thought it was a bad idea. But his birth mom was nearby, in San Diego. His birth dad’s old land is there for him to have. Shiro was moving in with Adam. All these factors compiled together and pointed to Keith’s next point in life lying in Hermosa Beach. It was time that he listened to it, to dig his heels in and face the tiger. So he did.

He met his birth mom first. Shiro came with to support him, because who knew what the hell to expect from her, the person who put Keith up for adoption in the first place to be tossed around in the system until he struck gold with the Shirogane household when he was 14. 

Her name is Krolia Kogane. She has short black hair, just like Keith’s, friendly amber eyes and a warm smile. She wasn’t what Keith expected, but then again, just like that talk with Shiro, he didn’t know exactly what expectations he went into that apartment with. They talked for hours. She told him all about how his father died when he was six months old, leaving her with a small stipend and the property that she couldn’t stay in, it was too far from the bus stop. She fell into deep debt, her original apartment got foreclosed, she could barely afford diapers, she wasn’t officially married to his birth dad so she couldn’t sell the land even if she wanted to. She told him that she regretted her decision every day of her life when she gave him up for adoption. She just couldn’t take care of him like he needed to be cared for, she’d said. He deserved a home where he could at least go to bed with a full stomach. 

He was furious at first. He wanted to resent her; if she truly loved him then she wouldn’t have sent him away, she would’ve found a way to keep him. But the time to cool off, and Shiro’s straight head, prevailed, and Keith went back to see her again. And again. And again. They caught up, and Keith slowly began to realize that he had started to give a damn about his birth mom. Krolia. That maybe she really did love him. 

The photo album proved it to him. The first ¾ was of her with his birth dad, she called him Tex. He had a rugged smile and deep blue eyes like Keith’s. They looked really happy together. The last ¼ was filled with pictures of a baby Keith. Him in Krolia’s exhausted arms in a quilted bed covered in towels, mouth open in post-birth screams. Him sleeping on Tex’s chest in a big brown chair by an open window with a palm tree out front. Pictures of the three of them at the beach. Then the pictures’ timestamps skipped three months and the last one was of Keith with a small mop of black hair and a pacifier in his mouth, cradled in a sling pressed to Krolia’s chest. 

She found a better job about ten years ago, and finally got to a state of living three years ago that she could go on the hunt for her son. For Keith. When she’d found him she immediately reached out but feared what he’d say back. She told him that she was overjoyed when he’d agreed to see her, even if it was only once because she wanted to know that at least he was okay. She told him that she was never going to abandon him again. 

So Keith decided to stay. He didn’t want to leave her either. 

His birth dad’s old house - rather shack - was not what Keith expected. It was but bare bones of walls and shoddy floors, the land wild and unchecked with overgrowth… but Keith found he quite liked it that way. Reclaimed earth and all that. But while Keith has ah… ‘lived on his own’... before, he’d prefer to not relive that same experience in a roofless wooden box. With Shiro and Krolia’s help, Keith was able to fix the place up quite nicely; it was the perfect size for him to live in, it’s like a two room apartment as a stand alone house. Once the heating and water was all installed Shiro went back home to Texas and Keith really started anew… alone. 

That is, at least, he got Kosmo. 

As Keith drives up to the house Kosmo immediately comes bounding around from the back. He has a doggie door set up on the side of the house that he can use as he pleases because Keith isn’t worried about him wandering off, not after all they’d been through together. 

Keith found him after getting pummelled in an alleyway outside _Thirst._ He was half starved, mangy, but the cutest and sweetest little pup Keith had ever met. He’d always loved animals; if he could stand to stay out of trouble he probably would’ve gone to try and be a veterinarian or something. It only took a few tail wags and a lick for Kosmo to own Keith’s heart. Even more so when he went to get him checked out and found him tagless. Keith thinks that Kosmo must not have been shown much love up until he’d met Keith, because ever since he put his collar on they’ve been inseparable. He didn’t know what to name him, but the brand of the collar is called Kosmo so Keith figured that that’s as good a name as any. Not that he called him that much; he solely received _“Who’s a good boy”_ ’s and _“Hello, handsome”_ ’s. 

Which is exactly the greeting he gives now. “Hey there, handsome.” Keith coos, kneeling on the gravel as Kosmo rushes him and is nearly sent sprawling onto his back when the German Shepherd plows into him. Though with a few laughing murmurs and pushes on the top of his head, Kosmo retreats enough so that Keith can get up and pet him properly. Kosmo has certainly made Keith happier; he couldn’t imagine how he lived alone for so long, because now that Kosmo’s in his life Keith can’t imagine living without him.

After Kosmo has been given sufficient pets, Keith stands upright and heads inside, his friend following close at his heels. Inside he kicks off his boots and socks by the doorframe and takes off his jacket, tossing it on the back of the chair by the door before heading back to the small kitchen next to the door to his room to reheat himself some dinner. However, as he goes through the motions, staring at the microwave screen rounding his plate with the dull hum of electricity like thunder in his ears, he realizes that he’s not hungry. He ate already at the tea shop of course, though the sandwiches there are hardly bigger than his hand and worth nothing in terms of substance… But this is something different. He feels a tug in his stomach, but it isn’t for food. It pulls him to the doorway from hence he came, beyond… to the ocean. 

The very feeling makes red hot rage rear its head in Keith’s chest. He finds himself letting out an annoyed breath from his nostrils like a racehorse behind the gates, but when the microwave beeps for his attention he doesn’t find himself granting it. Instead he feels his feet getting dragged, step, step, to the door, outside, bare feet on the wooden planks, bare feet in the short grasses, in the sand. 

He stands with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the ocean. The blues toss and tumble in swarms, wild lashes released upon the sands at regular, pulse-like intervals and beyond the horizon tinges orange and gold with the setting sun. The whole day had gone by, and Keith was no closer to a decision than he was yesterday when this guy… Lance… gave him this proposal. 

He wants to say fuck no. He doesn’t even know the guy, why the fuck would he want to help him when he’s done nothing but… well insult his hair for one thing. He even told Keith _off_ for giving him advice that one time he did if he remembers correctly, so why does he want it now? 

Keith wants to turn and head back into his house. He wants to throw away this stupid slip of paper that he still has in his hand, taken subconsciously from where it lived in his jacket pocket, and forget about it, to keep Lance as nothing more than an occasional meal ticket. 

But instead he stands. Slowly sinking to sit in the sands. Watching the waves pummel the tides into their constant to-and-fro. 

Leaning his chin on top of his knees, Keith lets out a soft sigh. _Perhaps Shiro was right_ . He thinks idly to himself. _Maybe I really have made up my mind about this and that’s why I’m not able to just let it go._

_But that means that I’d be going back out there. Into the water. I promised I would never let what I wanted endanger anyone ever again, that means NO MORE SURFING. That was supposed to be final._

_But this isn’t about_ **_me_ ** _, though. Maybe that’s why I’m okay with it. Because Lance asked me to do this for_ **_him,_ ** _so this isn’t about me at all. And I’m just gonna be coaching him, preparing him for the ISF, that doesn’t mean I have to get in the water. In fact, I know I won’t have to if I play my cards right. And besides, I could even charge for this, after losing my job I could use a few extra bucks a week while hunting for another…_

_… So maybe this isn’t breaking any promises. Because I’m not doing this because I-..._

He lets the thought drop before anything of substance can come of it. Instead he pulls his phone out of his pants pocket. He’s happy he’s got unlimited data because he doesn’t have Wifi in his little shack yet, but for important things - like FaceTiming Shiro - he’d go seek it out. But not for a text. Because it’s just a simple text.

Keith produces the fraying slip of ripped paper and holds it out in front of him. All it has is a number and Lance’s name scrawled on the top with a little smiley face next to it. Keith isn’t sure just how old this guy is, when he met him he seemed to be his age but he can’t help but thing he acts like he’s fifteen. Maybe twelve.

He types in the number with slow, shorted finger touches, like he’s watching his hands move through syrup. Once he has the text box open and ready, he has to take a steeling breath before he then takes the plunge. 

_“I’ve considered your offer.”_

Keith locks his phone and lets out a soft breath, closing his eyes as he shifts to sit cross legged in the sand. He doesn’t remain idle for long as almost immediately his phone buzzes with the fresh notification. 

_“who’s this?”_

Keith curses himself internally. _Oh. Shit. Right. He doesn’t have my number. I’m a fucking moron. “Keith. The guy who lives in the shack in the woods by the beach. You asked me about training you yesterday.”_

Keith watches as the telltale little three dots appear and finds anticipation gnawing at his gut. A gray message pops up. _“Oh! I totally thought you’d lost my number by now haha”_ Before Keith can glean much from the text another appears soon after, _“That was really cryptic, tho. So does that mean you’ll do it?”_

Keith chews on the inside of his cheek. _“Not for free.”_

 _“Grr, you drive a hard bargain.”_ This is followed with a winking emoji. _“Alright, how much do you want?”_

Kosmo has found Keith at this point, and he noses his way into his lap until he’s practically splayed out on top of him. Keith has the time to think over his options while petting him before he can text the other back, _“$20 for a classic session, 3 hours. Fair?”_ It’s more than fair; that’s half the minimum wage hourly amount. Keith doesn’t know why he’s lowballing it so cheap, considering… everything. But his gut told him to. Maybe it’s because he will still be charging Lance the $6.50 to use the beach, making it more like $26.50 for a day… but still. 

That’s enough for Keith to fill up his tank at least. 

_“Hell yeah, done and done.”_ Keith blinks as a gif is sent with the corresponding text of a kid sitting at an old 2000’s computer nodding and then looking at the camera to give a thumb’s up.

He can’t help but scoff with a shake of his head and a smirk as he sends another text, _“When are your availabilities?”_

Lance texts back pretty much immediately. _“Damn dude, you’re so formal, wanna sync Google Calendars or what?”_ Keith blinks and starts to pull up the app on his phone; he had never used it before except for doctor appointments and stuff like that but if that’s what Lance wants… 

Pretty soon after Lance texts again, _“Jk lol, I’m free Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays all day.”_

That works just fine for Keith. Without a job he’s got nothing better to do. Yet. He just needs another job, that’s all. Just another job. That’s all that this is. 

_“This Tuesday, at noon, come by with your board.”_ Keith moves to put his phone down but pauses, briefly chewing on his lip as he taps out one more message, _“And be ready to show me what you can do.”_

Lance’s reply takes a few seconds, but Keith watches with a patient expression until it appears, _“Oh I’ll show you what I can do.”_ There’s a gif accompanying it of Shaq O’Neal pursing his lips into a smirk and shaking his shoulders, Keith has to suppress a snort of laughter. He’s never encountered anyone in real life who texts like this, he’d seen memes and such but he didn’t think that people just… went out and texted like that. He can’t really explain it, but it makes him laugh. 

With the first training date settled, Keith lets out a breath and reclines in the sand, putting his phone in his pocket. Before long ideas start to form, excitement begins to boil in his chest, and before long he finds himself opening the notes of his phone to write down ideas on what to do for Tuesday. Without getting in the water himself, of course. 

He isn’t going to break his promise. 

… 

It’s 11:55 on Tuesday when there’s knocking at his door.

Keith had been ready for about a half hour already; pulling up old Youtube videos, long buried in his suggestions, after he’d texted Lance a list of required items: sunscreen, a water bottle, lunch for Lance, a sands umbrella. He asked for the last for himself because Keith’s skin is naturally fair and it’s been his bane in the past, and he doesn’t have one himself. It’s the one selfish thing he’d ask of Lance, simply because he wasn’t going to survive long in the direct sunlight without it. It was practical. 

When Keith opens the door and steps outside he’s greeted with a broad, cheeky grin as Lance immediately gasps dramatically, “Oh my God, shoulders!” Keith blinks at him with a completely lost expression as he shuts the door behind him, and upon seeing his look of confusion Lance shrugs sheepishly, “Er… shoulders. You’re… pale. You have shoulders and they’re pale.”

Keith lets out a sigh, “How observant of you.” He tries to resist the urge to cover his mentioned shoulders with his hands under the scrutiny. _The one day he decides to wear a sleeveless tanktop instead of a t-shirt._ He doesn’t consider himself self conscious but it’s hard not to be when someone points out a part of yourself you don’t often show. 

“Err, sorry, I didn’t mean- just you were wearing long sleeves yesterday so I assumed you’re just like, a vampire. You know?” Lance jokes as Keith brushes past him, he hears his impish steps closing in briskly after him. 

Keith wonders if he’d made a mistake. He offered to help _this_ guy train? He gives him a once over as the grass melds into sand, heading towards where he sees Lance left an umbrella and a bag of, hopefully, water and food for himself later. Lance’s stripping out of a stained white t-shirt to leave himself in nothing but deep blue trunks as he bumbles after Keith, his board is under his arm and the leash is already strapped to his ankle. It’s a good board, certainly worn but in good condition, well loved and well cared for, and that at least speaks well of the bronze skinned man striding next to him with long legs like those of storks. 

“... Wow, you’ve got no sense of humor, huh?” Lance huffs, setting the nose of his board down in the sand as Keith gets under the umbrella and peers out at the ocean line. “Not even one laugh? That was funny!”

“I don’t find jokes told for the tenth time to be all that funny.” Keith grumbles in response as he holds his hands over his eyes to mask them from the sunlight, closely examining the waves. It’s been years since he’s had to look at them for surfing purposes but it’s like muscle memory, it takes him only a couple seconds to identify the ideal camping spot between the wave breaks and what moves best work with half breaking, too small to be tubular waves. Not that _he’s_ thinking about doing any moves. But it’s what he can look for when Lance heads out there.

“... But I only told it once!” Lance presses on, watching Keith with narrowed eyes as he rests a hand on his hips, “... Where’s your board, anyway?”

“Not here.” Keith responds quickly, looking back over at Lance with crossed arms, “Go get in the water, show me what you can do. Ride three waves then come back here.” 

Lance looks at Keith incredulously with a raise of his brows, “You’re not going out there? How are you supposed to coach me from land?” 

Keith pinches the bridge of his nose as pressure begins to rise in his ears, “Are you going to spend our time together arguing with me or are you going to do what you came here to do and ride?”

Lance curls his nose indignantly for a moment before he sighs, kicking up sand as he turns towards the water, “Alright, alright, fine, fine… Mr. Bossy.” 

Keith resists the urge to roll his eyes as the other walks away and delves into the ocean. As Lance gets into position Keith grabs his things and his umbrella and moves it closer to the water, briefly he pokes through Lance’s bag to see that he did indeed pack a lunch and two waterbottles for himself, much to Keith’s relief. He didn’t want to have to worry about feeding him, he isn’t sure whether he has anything in his fridge besides old leftovers at the moment. How Shiro would have a fit if he tried to feed a training athlete old enchiladas… Keith can almost hear Shiro’s voice in his ear thinking about it, _‘Half of training is the surfing, the other half is nutrition. An athlete truly is only as good as what they eat.’_

Lance had arrived to the perfect sitting spot only a minute ago, Keith watched him pensively with his arms crossed as the bronzed man sat upright on his board, bobbing in the waves like a patient gull. He must’ve spot a wave, as almost immediately he starts to paddle forwards, long limbs like oars in the water and driving him forward and into the crest. It’s practiced, he has long range thanks to his wingspan, it’s easy for him to get into any wave he wishes but he went for the wave a little too late, he had to compensate with faster strides. Keith mentally notes this to bring up when he returns to shore, _‘You don’t want to tire yourself out before the wave even starts, timing is key. If you leave to late, just wait for the next one.’_ It is good, however, that Lance has that strength; he should just be using it for moves, not for getting into the wave. 

Keith would think that Lance would start slowly, work his way up from easy to more difficult moves as he warmed up but he didn’t do that, no, not at all, he went straight for a kickflip then a rodeo, back to back. He wobbles in his landing on the second, Keith figures because he’d lost the momentum, and he has to spend the rest of his ride of the wave down to the end of its fruition keeping out of the froth. They were good moves, Keith has to admit; his drive into the air with the kickflip had good balance and his rodeo was smooth, but the befores and afters for them both were simply too sketchy for it to get a score beyond a 7. But only for accounting what was in the air? … He figures Lance could get a 9. Which is _insane_ because the setup and the landing usually account for the quality of the move itself. But not with Lance, it seems. 

He waits with crossed arms under the umbrella, lining up his mental notes as Lance returns to the back to wait on another wave. He takes a few minutes, Keith can see his mop of dark hair, no doubt in a nest of messy curls stuck together with salt, rising and falling among the waves in search for his next ride. 

The second wave is better than the first, mostly because Lance doesn’t rush into it. He builds momentum, carves forward and back until he’s flying away from the barrel and does some good 360’s back to back in the air, dropping down before flying back up, like a slinky. It’s a good effect, interesting, not something Keith’s ever seen, but like before Lance pushes too fast and leaves the waters before the ‘prime time’, as Keith mentally refers to it. It’s the perfect liftoff moment, it’s difficult to find but there’s a stark difference between a move that starts at the prime time vs. a move that does not, even with Lance. He sees that his strength comes in his overcompensation; even if the liftoff is bad, Lance makes it work so that the move is still decent - even good - but it tends to fuck up his landing. _Mental note docked._

The third time Lance goes he waits again, riding up and down the waves with a few cutbacks and forward swings, keeping Keith’s gaze glued to the nose of his board and the purposeful movements of his toned arms - _oh no._ He has to shake his head a little to remain focused. On his _form… No, Keith, not his physique._

_… I suppose he is kind of good looking._

Any of these thoughts were dashed when Lance stumbles back to shore after his three waves with a heartbreaker grin and a cocky waggle of his brow over his baby-blue eyes, “Now that was great! Alright teach, whatcha got, how good was that? Come on, you can tell me, it was great, I know-”

“Sloppy.” Keith stabbed outwards with his tongue, briefly pulling his thoughts together as Lance’s expression falls and his chest rises with indignation. “... It was sloppy.”

 _“... Sloppy?”_ Lance repeats with furrowed eyebrows, dropping his dripping board to the sand to rub out his arm muscles… _distractingly._

Keith clears his throat and tries to straighten his thoughts, quickly realizing that his abrupt cutoff may have come across as a bit rude. Based on Lance’s sudden change from cocky to frowning. “You know what you’re doing, that’s obvious,” He starts off with a little honey, trying to keep Lance from rushing on to the defensive, “Your moves are good… but you’re not timing your liftoffs and you’re not thinking about you’re landings. It leads you to have to overcompensate.” 

Lance almost immediately puffs up, his cheeks burning crimson in the bright sunlight, “ I’m not overcompensating for _anything!”_

Keith can’t help it, not with such a good setup. “Then tell your face?”

Much to Keith’s surprise, Lance doesn’t snap back. He merely crosses his arms and frowns deeper, kicking his feet into the sand and burrowing them there. So with his silence, Keith continues with his constructive criticism, “I liked the multiple 360’s you did on your second wave; it was interesting, new, but you used up your momentum and your landing was flat, I’m surprised you didn’t fall. What you’ve got to work on and focus is your timing so you don’t have to overcompensate.” 

Lance’s nostrils flare and he lets out a hard breath, “I told you, I’m _not_ overcompensating.” 

“Then prove it.” Keith huffs in response, gesturing back out to the water, “Three more, and think about what I said.”

“Geez, what a slave driver.” Lance grumbles, but before he can turn Keith thrusts one of his waterbottles from his bag into his hands. When the other turns to him with wide, surprised eyes like the sky Keith’s heart leaps into his throat against his consent. 

“... You gotta hydrate.” He mutters after a moment, clearing his throat and hopefully his thoughts. 

“... Right.” Lance mutters after a moment, lifting his bottle in the air towards Keith in a toast before taking a swig. Once he’s had a few gulps of water he makes a pleased sound and caps it up, declaring with a returning smirk, “Hydrate or die-drate, bitch!” He drops the water in the sand, lifts up his board, and returns at a quick pace back to the water. 

Keith blinks at him with wide eyes for several minutes before he lets out a short breath and sits down on the sand, pushing his hair up into a ponytail above the base of his neck. 

… 

They go like that until the end of their time together; Lance goes and surfs three waves, returns to land for water, reapplication of sunblock, and eventually lunch, while Keith critiques his form and offers advice. Before they both knew it, time flew by and when Keith checked his phone while Lance was coming back from being on the water he saw that their agreed upon end time had passed thirty minutes ago. That, and a text from Shiro. _“How’s it going?”_

“That’s a great place to stop.” Keith reports once replaced his phone in his pocket and crossed his arms as Lance rolls in from the water, water dripping from his hair and down his beaming, exhausted face. “This is some good progress. You’re surfing twice as better as you were when we started; just keep in mind what I was telling you when you practice and you’ll be ready soon enough.”

“Thanks.” Lance jokingly salutes at him as he grabs his towel from his bag at their feet, draping it over his shoulders after drying off his hands and face and pulling out his phone, “Wow, that was good. Can I Venmo you the cash? Oh! And do you wanna go for some dinner?”

“Sure that’s fine- wait, what?” Keith blinks stupidly at the other, his eyes flown wide and his jaws slightly parted. 

Lance doesn’t even look up from his phone, busily typing away, “Awesome! Some of my friends are taking me out to dinner in celebration of first lesson day and I figure what a good time for them to meet you!” 

Keith flounders as the situation settles upon his shoulders, he watches as Lance moves around him to pack up and it serves to only further spiral his thoughts, “I- I’m not sure if-”

“Oh don’t go backing out on me now!” Lance threatens teasingly with a flashy smirk thrown lackadaisically over his shoulder as he picks up his bag, gesturing with a hand to Keith’s right, “Grab the umbrella, will you? Oh, and don’t bring your wallet, it’s on me. I’ll deduct it from your bill.” 

Keith’s head is about to ricochet off of the moon and crash into the surface of the setting sun it’s spinning so hard and so fast. “What? No, I- What?” 

“Grab the umbrella.” Lance repeats, snapping his fingers towards Keith vaguely as he hoists up his board onto his shoulder, “I nearly pulled a muscle getting from the car to here with it before, and now that you’re coming with, I could use the hand.”

Slowly Keith begins to catch up to the present moment, and that’s when he realizes that there’s no getting out of this one, not with Lance already back in the treeline and forging his way through the forest with his board on his shoulder. So, with a sigh and a pinch of his brow he grumbles in discontent under his breath before he does what he’s told and lifts the umbrella from where he’d been nestled beneath its shelter, holding it perched on his shoulders. Lance is walking away from Keith’s place, towards the fence on the far side of the property, so after a quick second’s deliberation Keith picks up his booted pace through the sand to rush after him.

He catches up to him right as Lance has finished hopping the fence. Upon seeing him the dark skinned boy flashes him a charming wink before he puts his board back on his shoulder and strides off again, leaving Keith with what feels like sunburn on his face. He drops the umbrella on the other side of the fence and climbs over just like Lance did, and internally he figures that this must be the method that he’d been coming to and from the beach. If this is to become a regular thing, Keith supposes he’ll have to tell him how to get to the drive-in entrance, where he comes and goes on his bike. Might be a little easier, when he’s towing all his stuff along to at least not have to hop a fence. But Keith doesn’t say anything at the moment, mostly because he’s still completely at a loss at what the everliving fuck his feelings are up to. _No good_ , he thinks to himself, _no good at all._

In no time they reach a break in the trees and Lance stops just as they reach pavement, appearing to spill out into a small parking lot by the big parking lot by the public beach. Lance rests a hand on his hip as he rests the nose of his board gently on the asphalt, bending down to get his water from his bag and Keith finds himself forcing to look the other direction, lest his gaze move someplace it shouldn’t. _What’s gotten into him?_ “Thanks for the help.” Lance hums after a moment’s quiet, his voice is rugged from the trek and it does nothing but make the burn on Keith’s face stretch to the back of his neck. He didn’t accidentally stand in the sun, did he? He had been so diligent… It would be a shame if he got burned on their first day. 

“‘Course.” Keith mumbles as he clears his throat, setting the umbrella down on the pavement as well, fixing his gaze upon Lance. His baby blue eyes are on the road heading in, Keith figures for an Uber, no, probably those friends he mentioned. Friends that he wants Keith to meet. 

He should find his way out while he has the chance. 

“Great job again, today.” Keith clears his throat after several, long seconds of dead silence, taking a retreating step back towards hence they came, “Text me when you’re ready for your second session-”

“Yo, hey, wait a second, I thought you-” Lance whirls on Keith with an accusing pout but stops about halfway turned, his gaze suddenly hitching on the entrance to the parking lot where a shabby Subaru has just pulled in, “Oh shit, here comes Pidge.” Lance mutters, breaking into a grin and waving at his oncoming companion. Keith internally swears. _Fucking shit._

The Subaru’s windows are all down, revealing two people inside, both around Lance and Keith’s age he guesses. One is a large Polynesian man, probably a Hawaiian native, with a wide, friendly face and warm, chocolatey eyes, and the other is a wiry girl who doesn’t look like she’s quite hit puberty yet, which is shocking to Keith as she’s the one driving the car, with big, circular glasses like Harry Potter’s and a bush of bronze hair that waves in untamable curls at the base of her neck. “Hey! There’s the man of the hour!” The guy calls, hopping out of the car once it had come to a full stop in front of them. His gaze wanders to Keith’s and locks on with a curious raise in his brow, and Keith has to fight the urge to turn and run back to his house. He _hates_ meeting new people, nothing is worse than the judgemental stares as they try to figure you inside and out and categorize you in their own little world of boxes-

“Heya Hunk!” Keith nearly jumps out of his skin when Lance suddenly claps a hand over Keith’s shoulders, pulling him close as the woman gets out of the car and begins to pick him apart with her shrouded gaze beneath her bushy bangs and thick glasses. “Pidge! This is Keith, my kinda trainer sort of person?” Lance purses his lips and draws his gaze back to the man under his arm as he juts his chin towards them, “Keith, these are my best friends Hunk and Pidge.” 

Keith’s tongue lodges in his throat as the three pairs of eyes turn to him. He crosses his arms and merely nods, hoping his expression appears as aloof and disinterested as he’s hoping it is so that they don’t see how anxious he is. “Nice to meet you, Keith!” Hunk steps forward with a spring in his gate and holds out his hand for Keith to shake, which he doesn’t take. He isn’t wearing his gloves, so he doesn’t want him to see how sweaty he probably is at the moment. So, instead, Hunk whistles with a sheepish smile and runs his hand through his hair. 

“Very much a pleasure, yeah.” Pidge, the small one, intervenes with a sudden jerk of her thumb towards the Subaru, “Can we roll out? I’m hangry as _fuck._ ” 

“Oh they are. ” Hunk shudders as his eyes fly wide, moving around with Pidge as the two move to start strapping Lance’s board to the roof of the car with bored efficiency, clearly this isn’t the first time they’ve done it and it probably won’t be the last. 

Keith glances over at Lance and finds his gaze boring into his, searching with a raised eyebrow. To sate him Keith mutters under his breath, “They seem nice.” 

“Oh wow, look at him go, got my pronouns right on the first try.” Pidge suddenly pipes up once Keith finished speaking, glancing over at where Lance and Keith stand paired with a cocked eyebrow. _Ah, shit, nonbinary pronouns._ Keith swears internally to himself, _I’m glad I know that now, at least. I didn’t wanna embarrass or hurt them later just because I didn’t think to ask._ Keith gives Pidge a once over, taking in their short overalls and now that he’s really looking he can see the neck of a binder poking out by their slim shoulder. _Foolish of me to see someone who clearly doesn’t give a fuck about gender expression and assuming cis._

Lance laughs out loud with a bright smile before he claps a hand on Keith’s back, “You coming to dinner with us, right?” His tone of voice is checked, his eyebrow is raised and his head is tilted in a _laissez-faire_ manner. 

“Is he?” Hunk asks politely, glancing over at Keith with a questioning look. 

Suddenly, Keith’s ability to speak returns. “No, no thank you.” He clears his throat and takes a step away from beneath Lance’s arm, holding up his hands, “I’ve got um… plans. With my um… dog. Some other time, perhaps.” 

“Plans with your dog?” Lance huffs indignantly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. 

He doesn’t get to be suspicious for long, however, as by some divine luck this complete stranger Hunk swoops in to Keith’s rescue. “Yeah, sure, no problem man, we’ll plan ahead better in the future and you can totally join us! If you want to.” Hunk gives him a kindly smile, leaving gentle creases by his sloped eyes and Keith can’t help but wonder whether his apparent kindness is authentic or if he’s just some kind of ditz. 

“Thanks.” Keith mutters in response, giving Lance one last nod with a passing wave, “Great job again.” Before he can get roped into something else he isn’t emotionally prepared to do, he turns on heel and marches back into the forest surrounding his home. 

Immediately Keith’s thoughts swarm and buzz over his brain, only interrupted as he tried to recollect how to trace his and Lance’s steps back to his house. Once he’d hopped the fence he was alright, but he had to turn around a few times because he kept missing the barely noticeable trail. 

When he opened the door to his small shack, and walked inside Kosmo’s ears perked up from where he was lying on the couch. Keith smiles and drops to his knee in preparation as the massive German Shepherd practically teleported into his arms, lavishing him with slobbery kisses. “Easy boy, there’s a good pupper.” Keith coos affectionately as he scratches his dog behind his ears, only once he had been sated for the few hours he was gone does Kosmo pull away and return to curl up on the floor by the tv, his tail periodically wagging like a stop motion clock. Keith can’t help but smile as he takes off his shirt, draping it over the back of the couch as he kicks off his boots and sits in just his jean shorts on the couch so he can cool off after standing out in the sun all afternoon. He lies on his back and pulls out his phone, opening up the unread text from Shiro about two hours ago, now. _“How’s it going?”_

He types with deft thumbs. _“It was fine.”_

Just as Keith drops his phone to the couch cushions it buzzes again as the three little dots come up to greet him. _“Just fine?”_ Another second later came another text, _“Are you gonna keep up with it?”_

Keith bit his lip pensively as he stared at the text, his mind fogging as he recalled the afternoon. Watching and critiquing Lance’s surfing skills, his form, watching those shoulders work from constantly rowing in and out of the water, the gleam of sweat on his brow mixed with the sweet, familiar saltwater… 

_These are dangerous thoughts to be thinking._ Keith rubbed his eyes as he let out a sigh, thinking quietly to himself in the low, dying lights of the shack. _But that’s not in the question. I already told him to text me when he wants to do another training session. But after today I’m not sure if he’ll do it or not. If he found it to be worthwhile. He doesn’t seem to like me all that much._

Keith sits up with a soft huff, shaking his head a little to get his hair out of his face as he texts Shiro his reply, _“I guess I’ll just have to see if he texts me back or not.”_

As Keith goes about making dinner, he has to struggle not to choke and die on his own tongue when Shiro sends back an inevitable response, the insertion of the winking emoji is, frankly, too on the nose, or so Keith thinks as he flares his nostrils. _“Now I can’t tell if he’s your trainee or if you’re banging”._

 _“Definitely not banging.”_ Keith types back hurriedly before he tosses his phone onto the couch. _Definitely not banging. I should definitely not be thinking about that with some guy I barely know. What the hell has gotten into me, anyway?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WROTE SOMETHING! THANK THE LORD ON HIGH I CAN'T BELIEVE I DID IT WHILE IN THE MIDST OF WRITING 4 COLLEGE ESSAYS!  
> Well, here y'all go, have some surfer!au content. Leave a kudos and do let me know in the comments what you liked, what you thought, where you think it's going (theories etc.) and all that! I wanna hear your thoughts!  
> Now, about those college essays...


	5. Shifting Currents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Lance isn’t exactly sure if he wants to text Keith back or not. 
> 
> On one hand, fucking hell, he sure knows what he’s talking about. Lance actually felt like he was (maybe) getting better during practice yesterday. On the other, Jesus Christ he’s a fucking know-it-all! He’s such a pretentious, emo ass, scowling ass, grumpy ass, motherfucking pain that Lance isn’t sure if the deal’s worth it. 
> 
> Well, he is kinda being harsh… but so was Keith when he told him he was *sloppy*.

Honestly, Lance isn’t exactly sure if he wants to text Keith back or not. 

On one hand, fucking hell, he sure knows what he’s talking about. Lance actually felt like he was (maybe) getting better during practice yesterday. On the other, Jesus _Christ_ he’s a fucking know-it-all! He’s such a pretentious, emo ass, scowling ass, grumpy ass, motherfucking _pain_ that Lance isn’t sure if the deal’s worth it. 

Well, he is kinda being harsh… but so was Keith when he told him he was _sloppy._

“But having someone give it to you straight is important! There’s so many fake people out there, at least you’ll know that if you suck, he’d tell you!” Pidge decrees as the three of them sit at their normal booth in the back of _Rita’s,_ slurping their virgin Pina Colada from their carry-on metal straw. 

“Sure, but consider this: he’s an _asshole._ ” Lance grumbles in response, his arms crossed on top of the table as he picks at a set of nachos on the table with Hunk’s help. 

Hunk smiles sheepishly over at him with a mouth full of said nachos, “Alright, but based on what you said he sounds more like he’s someone who’s trying to help you get better.” 

Lance crosses his arms, glaring over at Hunk with a grumble, “Whose side are you on?” 

Hunk holds his hands up innocently as Pidge steps in with a more amicable tone, “Alright, so let’s put this in perspective, then. Would you rather find a coach - probably a more _expensive_ coach, keep that in mind - someone who would take time to find, too, forgot about that…” Pidge trails off thoughtfully, but prompted by Lance’s expectant, tired look they continue with a gentler tone, “Okay, would you rather have a coach who is _nice_ about telling you what you need to improve on, someone you can ignore, you know, like Hunk-”

“Hey!”

“-Or would you rather get this absolute catch to tell you what’s up cheap and real?” 

Something about referring to Keith as an ‘absolute catch’ makes Lance’s skin hot, why he can’t exactly tell but it makes him bristle and huff indignantly all the same, “Okay, I really don’t appreciate all these facts you guys are spewing at me.” 

“It’s just the truth.” Hunk mumbles indistinctly as he shoves more nachos in his mouth enthusiastically, and Lance finds his mouth watering looking down at them. He’s so _so_ sore after working yesterday, his arms especially, and it has made him _ravenous._ He already had his chicken sandwich and fries but he was still hungry, hence why he split the nachos with an also-still-hungry Hunk. He does need to make sure he doesn’t eat like garbage, because training… but half a bag of nachos never hurt anyone.

Lance picks out some nachos to eat with a hint of a frustrated expression as Pidge speaks again, “Listen, it’s ultimately your decision, just keep what we said in mind before you do something rash.” 

Lance raises an eyebrow incredulously, “When have I ever been rash?” As soon as Hunk and Pidge both give him the _are you fucking kidding me_ expressions Lance sheepishly casts his gaze downward and waves his hands, “ _Besides_ impulsively challenging Lotor to a surfing match. That _one_ time!” 

“Once was enough.” Hunk mutters plaintively. 

The trio finish up their meal after catching up on the events of the day; Hunk and Pidge had gone to the game shop in town to check out the board games they had before they came to get Lance from work. As he’s getting dropped off back at to the apartment he promises that they’ll be showing down in Warlords of Catan sooner than they know it before he slips inside. He can tell by the number of shoes in the entryway that he’s home alone for the moment, so he uses the time to take up residence in the bathroom, pampering himself and taking an extra long shower to relax his aching muscles, stretching all throughout as he does. The last thing he needs is for his arms to lock up even worse after sleeping on them tonight, which might just happen anyway given how much they hurt, but Lance is doing his best to mitigate the inevitable at this point. 

Once he’s showered and ready for bed he collapses, flicking through his phone messages. He sees a text from Allura saying that she’s staying at Romelle’s tonight, that coupled with Veronica’s night shift at the hospital leads Lance to grin when he realizes he has free reign over the place. So to celebrate it and use it to the maximum extent he gets up to watch some Netflix in the living room as the night begins to progress, just because he can. 

Only once the moonlight spills into the kitchen does he stop, its light catching his eye and pushing him to look out the glass paned window at the oceanline view on their small balcony. Suddenly entranced, and bored of whatever Netflix special he was watching, Lance follows the pull to it, slowly the glass doors part before him as he steps into the night. 

The drone of the pounding sea lulls Lance’s soul to a place of peace rather than anxiety, and Lance thinks in that moment that it’s probably because he’s stopped trying to deny the draw the water had for him; now that he’s accepted surfing back into his life the ocean calmed him rather than agitated him. The stars were out and were twinkling over the tops of the buildings like a swathe of paint hurled across the heavens, the forever moving, black sea below it seeming to shimmer with magic like fairies are surfing along its waves.

 _Speaking of surfing…_ Lance looks down at his phone and pulls up his minimal texts with Keith. He hasn’t texted him since they trained yesterday and Keith hasn’t texted him, though Lance figures he probably won’t. Keith doesn’t seem the type to make that leap if the ball is in Lance’s field, which it kind of is. He needs to ask for another session, and he thinks that Keith seems to agree, which is why he’s heard nothing from him in over twenty four hours. 

As much as he would hate to admit it, Pidge and Hunk are right. Keith teaching him is a true steal with the current price, that and the advice he’s given him hasn’t been cheap. If he wants to get better… he’ll have to swallow his pride. 

But Lance _really_ doesn’t want to. Like, at all.

He doesn’t want to concede that this guy, someone who he has surfed with as an equal, is a good mentor because that implies that Keith is better than him and that very thought curdles and boils Lance’s blood. He’s good in his _own_ right, he doesn’t need to be coached by a _peer._

But then again, he had been coached by Pidge and Hunk up until that dire day, neither of them are more experts in surfing than Lance is. But Keith is different. Keith is a another surfer, and a damn good one at that. Having him as his mentor makes it seem like he’s better, and Lance doesn’t want to make that concession. 

But he needs the training. 

_But Keith’s an_ **_ass_ ** _._

_… But he needs the training._

Sighing, Lance admits defeat as he types with his thumbs, _“What’s your schedule for this week? I’m free Thursday and Saturday if you wanna keep this a regular thing.”_

He puts his phone down and sits upright in the chair, _his_ chair he feels like it is at this point, considering how often he’s sat in it, staring at the water. He regards the waves below, the continuous thunder of their sound waxing and waning like the thin crescent moon above him is quickly lulling him to sleep. At least the sound doesn’t hurt him to listen to anymore.

Within a few minutes he feels his phone buzz. _“I can do that. Three times a week, same time.”_ As Lance finishes reading the text and is scrolling through appropriate gifs to send in response Keith sends another message, _“That may change later.”_

Now Lance is curious. _“Why?”_

Keith answers after only a minute, _“Looking for a job, if you must know.”_

Lance blinks at this and replies without much thought, _“Oh shit, wack man, the struggle is real. The surf shop down by the beach I know needs a shift covered if you need quick cash.”_ As soon as Lance hits send on the text he immediately wants to kick his own ass. He should _not_ have offered this _tool_ an in at _his job._ What the hell was he thinking? The last thing he needs is to have to… see _more_ of him! Even though the shift is nowhere near Lance’s, he would know the cash register would be defiled by emo hands. Or is it goth hands? That does stand to question… Is Keith an emo or a goth? Or does he just have a penchant for black clothes, nail polish, and leather jackets? 

_“Thanks for the offer but that’s not really what I’m looking for.”_

Lance has got to admit, he’s getting drawn into conversation. With his feet kicked up on the railing he texts again, _“What are you looking for, then?”_

Keith doesn’t text him back immediately, Lance almost nods off with his shoulders pressed against the chair waiting for his response, _“I’m not sure. I just wanna do something that doesn’t make me wanna kill myself, or someone else. You know?”_

Lance laughs out loud. Keith? Cracking jokes? He didn’t think he had it in him! He texts back with a smile on his face, _“Oh man I feel that! im just working at the surf shop until I can get something better too.”_ Once he hits send Lance pauses, reminiscing on his own message with a bit of a forlorn feeling deep in his chest. It is true, the surf shop job was supposed to be temporary, though he hasn’t exactly been diligent in looking for anything else. Mostly because the job pays well enough that he can’t complain too much, splitting the rent with Allura and Veronica ensures that much, but… could he see himself working there six months from now? A year? Five? 

Lance’s phone pings. _“What are you looking for, then?”_

He admires Keith’s proper grammar and spelling in his texts. It’s rubbing off on him a bit, as he starts to formulate his message his thoughts seem to solidify into the little orange bubble, _“I dunno. I like to write but there aren’t a lot of jobs that do that unless ur a college grad, and fuck college tbh. No offense.”_

The three little dots appear almost immediately, enrapturing Lance’s attention so long as they’re present, _“No offense?”_

_“Yeah? Aren’t you at UCLA or something lol?”_

_“I dropped out first semester freshman year.”_

_Oh. Damn._ Lance sits up, hooked now on the information rolling in on this mysterious stranger. _“Wasn’t for you? I’m sure your parents weren’t happy about that.”_

_“I was taking care of Shiro.”_

_Oh._ **_Fuck._ ** Lance awkwardly sits back again, chewing on his lip as he taps back haphazardly, _“Oh. I’m sorry about that.”_

_“It’s fine, it isn’t your fault.”_

Lance pouts, staring at the stubborn message with a pensive frown before he finds the drumming of the ocean interrupting his thoughts like a yapping dog, so he heads inside. He gets in pajamas and crawls up into bed, reopening his phone excitedly when he gets another text but much to his despair it’s Veronica asking him to take out the trash and not Keith. _But why should he be excited about a text from Keith?_

With a huff he rises from bed reluctantly to do as his sister asked, all the while tumultuous feelings begin to simmer and boil. _Why should he be excited about a text from Keith?_

 _Well, it wouldn’t kill Lance to get to know him better. They_ **_are_ ** _gonna be working together, for good or for ill, Lance has committed to surfing under him, at least until the competition. So it wouldn’t kill him to at least be friendly._ As he drops the trash off at the dumpster on the bottom floor and heads back up, he pulls out his phone. _And a good place to start is by at_ **_least_ ** _being friendly. Who knows, maybe he’ll warm up to me… eventually. He doesn’t seem like too much of an ass right now, at least…_

 _We’ll see how long that lasts._ He thinks to himself as he taps his next message, changing their conversation subject with some swift movements of this thumbs, _“So what did you study?”_

Lance collapses back in bed with the relief of an exhausted man, cuddling up in the blankets as he holds his phone up to his face and scrolls through his social media feed in wait for a text from Keith. None comes, however, as the minutes tick on to an hour and the fatigue begins to catch up to Lance. _I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes… I’ll wake up to the buzz… Just for a minute…_

… 

Lance comes to when his phone buzzes on his chest. He blinks awake sleepily and sits up, yawning as he sees he has multiple texts waiting for him, so to wake up his eyes he checks through them to see what’s up. One is from Veronica telling him she left some food for him in the fridge from the hospital for when he wakes up, another from Pidge asking about whether he needs a ride to the Castle, and to Lance’s sudden excitement he sees one from Keith from 6 this morning. _“Sorry, fell asleep. I was majoring in Visual Arts.”_ Before Lance could puzzle over this factoid he sees the next text, this one is from an hour ago, _“You are coming today, right?”_ Lance checks the time. _Fuck, it’s 10:30._ He’s got about thirty minutes to be at the Castle in order to be there on time. _Oh shit._

He quickly sends an affirming text before he flips over to text Pidge, _“Hey, yes please come pick me up?”_ Lance leaps to his feet after the text is sent and goes about getting dressed in his trunks. Once he’s ready he scoops up his stuff and checks his texts to see their response, _“Damn would it kill u to warn me ahead of time? Gimme 20 min”_ That was ten minutes ago. 

Lance decides to head down to the street corner to wait there for them, shooting a text to Keith as he strides into the living room as an afterthought, _“I’ll be a little late, though. Sorry, just woke up.”_

Keith responds pretty much immediately, _“No problem.”_

Lance grabs some lunch from the fridge right as Allura stumbles through the door. She looks disheveled, very much sporting the walk-of-shame look of yesterday’s clothes donned sloppily and haphazardly done up hair.

Lance can’t help but smirk at her as he packs his things for his training session today, “Have a fun night?” 

Allura scans him with a distasteful look before allowing a girlish smile to stretch across her features, “... Yeah. You?”

Lance shrugs nonchalantly with a bright grin, “Heck yeah, love having the place to myself. I was able to watch Bojack Horseman without interruptions in the _living room_ of all places.” 

Allura scoffs and rolls her eyes as she approaches behind him to get into the fridge, “What are your plans today?”

Lance gestures to the reusable shopping bag in his hand, “Training with Keith at the Castle.” 

Allura cocks an eyebrow curiously at this, pulling a bag of baby carrots out of the fridge, “Oh? Are you thinking about sticking with it?”

“Yeah.” Lance pauses, looking down at his waterbottle in the bag with a pensive expression as he formulates his thoughts, “Just so long as this Keith guy doesn’t keep being a dickhole.” 

Allura blinks in surprise and laughs melodically under her breath as she rounds to sit at the counter in front of him, “Damn, what did he do this time?”

Lance huffs and waves her off, “Nothing new. Just like… I don’t know. I just don’t like him.” 

Allura regards him with playfully gleaming gaze and profers helpfully, “Maybe you’re just bad at taking constructive criticism.”

Lance almost immediately flushes and flounders, swinging his bag onto his shoulder, “I am _so not!_ ” Allura gives him a _are you sure about that_ look that makes him playfully smack her shoulder, “I’m _not!_ ” 

Allura laughs outright, waving him off as he heads to his room to grab his board. In the entryway he gives a dismissal call to her before he heads down to the ground floor to wait for Pidge. 

He doesn’t have to wait long, as their station wagon comes around the bend within a few minutes of him sitting on the corner. He smiles at them when they get out of the car, their sunglasses perched on the top of their head, “Thanks _so_ much for this, I totally didn’t plan-”

“Yeah, no shit, honey.” Pidge growls playfully, punching his shoulder before getting into the back seat to get the leashes for strapping Lance’s board to the roof, “You interrupted a very important Mario Kart showdown!” 

Lance rolls his eyes as he helps them get his stuff situated, “So based on your peeved attitude Matt was winning?”

“No, it’s worse: _my dad_ is.” 

Lance whistles lowly as he gets into the passenger seat, “Damn, he’s been practicing huh?” 

“Apparently.” Pidge shakes their head with an indignant noise before they drive off, heading towards the Castle. “So is this gonna be a thing for you, now?” They gesture vaguely to the roof. 

Lance perks up at this, folding his hands and twiddling with his thumbs in his lap, “Yeah, actually, I’ve been meaning to ask… Could you drop me off and pick me up same times on Saturday, Tuesday, and Thursday? If not I can Uber but-”

“I can do Tuesday and Thursday but Saturday you’re on your own.” Pidge interrupts factually, jutting their chin towards the road before them, “That’s when I got day shift with the head of the department.” 

Lance cocks an eyebrow at this, “Oh, that sounds fancy!” 

“Hardly. He’s a tool.” Pidge growls, their hands clench on the wheel, “He doesn’t ‘understand’ my pronouns, so he refuses to use them.” 

Lance’s face almost immediately flushes with red heat as he pulls out his phone, “Don’t mind me, just gonna ask Hunk for a crowbar and a body bag real quick-” 

Pidge breaks into a smile and waves at him offhandedly, “It’s fine, don’t go getting arrested on my account. He’s old as balls, he’ll retire soon enough.” 

Lance scoffs and crosses his arms with a coy pout, “Yeah, but he’ll retire _sooner_ if he doesn’t have any _kneecaps_ , you know.” 

“Pfft, I’d love to see that. Specifically you pitching this genius plan of yours to Hunk.” They retort with a snicker.

With a wicked grin and a flash of a fingergun Lance winks in response, “All it takes is some charm and a display of the facts, baby.” 

Pidge curls their lip as they laugh in response, now turning into the parking lot by the Castle. “Here you are. Be safe out there, alright?” Pidge speaks in a more serious tone, their wrists resting on the steering wheel as their hazel eyes behind their glasses reflect gold in the early afternoon sunshine passing through the windshield. 

Lance flashes them a charming wink, “Always, don’t you worry about me.” He hops out of the car, unleashing his board from the roof and grabbing his bag from the floorboard before he gives Pidge a head scratch through the open window, “I’ll Venmo you the gas tax every time, promise!” 

Pidge grins brightly in response and gives him a thumbs up before they put their car in reverse and back out of the parking lot as Lance makes his way through the forested area towards the Castle. 

When he arrives to the beach he finds Keith is already out there under a bright red umbrella, like he’s standing beneath a lit beacon. He’s in a maroon, sleeveless tanktop with some indie band on the front, jeans and a pair of red sunglasses perched on top of his head to keep his bangs out of his face. When he turns towards Lance it makes him have a double take of his emotions, his heart hammers into his throat and inexplicably his hands start to sweat, especially when his violet-gray gaze falls on him expectantly.

“Whoa, Keith!” Lance declares as he drops his stuff under his umbrella, pointing at the other’s face accusingly, “I didn’t know you had a forehead!” 

Keith’s expression grows to exhausted and 100% done as Lance laughs at his own joke, watching him as he sits in the sand to strap the leash of his board to his ankle. He doesn’t answer him, instead favoring to move on to the business at hand, “Have you eaten breakfast?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lance waves him off dismissively despite how his stomach growls almost immediately in response. _Shit._ He’d totally forgotten in his rush to leave the apartment. But it doesn’t matter, he’ll get a snack break in a half hour or so. Or he’ll ask for one. Whichever comes first.

Keith, fortunately, takes his word for it. “Alright, let’s start out with some warmup exercises before you get in the water, get your muscles nice and loose.” 

For some reason Lance finds his face heat up, probably because of the sun’s rays getting to him already, so he looks up at Keith with an indignant look as he gestures to his ankle, “But I’m already leashed and ready to go!” 

Keith huffs impatiently, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, “Then unleash and get up.” He holds out a hand to help him up but Lance doesn’t take it, he brushes it aside as he undoes the leash and gets up with an indignant groan. Keith looks on impassively, gesturing with his head to the stretch of sand outside of the protection of the umbrella. He leads Lance through some dynamic stretches, familiar ones that Lance learned from surfer workout videos on Youtube, all the while he interrogated him about what he’d done to take care of himself since Tuesday. “Did you stretch when you got home?”

“Of course I did!” He didn’t.

“Did you work out at all yesterday?” 

“A little bit.” He absolutely did _not_ , after standing around in the shop all day the last thing he wanted to do was move. Even taking out the trash was horrible.

Keith sighs as he moves to stretch with Lance, his bangs breaking loose from his glasses and getting in his eyes as he leans forward, “What have you been eating?”

Lance huffs indignantly, giving Keith a harsh look, “What’s with the interrogation? I’ve been doing fine!”

Keith’s gaze flickers across Lance’s form, “Straighten your leg more.” Lance lets out a hard breath through his nose so as to keep his biting retort to himself, instead doing as he’s told as Keith speaks again, “Surfing is only one part training. The rest is-”

“-One part luck and two parts patience!” Lance finishes excitedly, his eyes flying wide as the familiar words come to him. Keith looks at him with wide, confused eyes as Lance shyly clears his throat, “Oh. Uh… I read that magazine article about Shiro. He says that all the time.” 

Keith furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head slightly as he nonverbally prompts Lance to switch to stretch his other leg, “... No, that’s not it. It’s one part training on the water, one part training on land, one part diet, and two parts commitment to the three.”

Lance had never heard such bullshit in his life. “What? No way!” He proclaims upon hearing such _blasphemy_ , but before he can launch into his _excuse-me-I-think-I’m-the-resident-Shiro-expert-here_ spiel he realizes exactly who he’s speaking to. If anyone knows Shiro best, it’s his foster brother… but why would the magazine get the quote so wrong? 

It pisses Lance off. _Extremely_ so. Almost to the point he felt the desire to walk off. But he doesn’t. Because he needs the training. Even if it’s from this _know it all, rude, I’m-so-perfect-_

“Alright, let’s get you in the water.” Keith dusts his hands off of sand as he straightens, retreating to the safety of the umbrella as he tosses Lance his waterbottle from his own bag as he speaks, “Start off slow, ride with some slow cutbacks, no tricks yet. Let yourself warm up, then come back for some water. Then we’ll get back into it like we did on Tuesday.” 

Lance huffs indignantly in response after he’d taken a drink, “Why can’t we just skip to what we did on Tuesday?”

Keith flickers his gaze across Lance’s form, “You need to warm up before you can do effective tricks. Tuesday I wanted to see what you already knew - now’s the time for the actual _training_ part.” Lance pouts but as he opens his mouth to argue Keith cuts him off with a tired look, “Are you here to argue with me or are you here to surf?” He points to the water as if he’s his mom sending him to his room, further spiking Lance’s anger. _This fucking guy…_

“... Fine. Sure, whatever, _coach_.” Lance hisses the title like a slur as he lashes himself to his board and heads to the water, leaving a silent Keith in his wake. 

…   
Lance did everything he asked. 

He warmed up first. No tricks. He did the easy tricks that Keith asked of him afterward, but it was getting to the point that Lance is wondering if Keith thought he was brand new or something, because when he’d say _‘alright the hard tricks now right?’_ Keith would shut him down; _‘go slow, warm up.’_

He’d warmed up the whole fucking time! It has to have been hours since they started. And now what? He sure is _really warm,_ that’s for fucking sure, but it isn’t because of the afternoon-becoming-evening sun or the work in his muscles. The _fucking extra_ amount of work that he’s had to do to come back inland because Keith refuses to get in the _fucking water._

When he comes to shore, breathless from the paddle inland, he sets his board in the sand as he plants his hands on his waist, metaphorically and literally putting his foot down, “Alright! That’s enough warming up! I’m warm! Lets do the good stuff now!” 

Keith crosses his arms once he’d put his own personal waterbottle down in the sand, “What you are doing now is just as valuable as working on tricks. Basics are always important.” 

Lance lets out an enraged sigh as he points towards the water like it wronged him personally, “Yeah, but so is _practicing_ the _moves_ that I’m going to be using in the _competition_!” 

Something about Lance’s constant grinding against him must have grated Keith’s nerves to a breaking point, as Lance almost tangibly sees the tension snapping something within the dark haired man. Keith suddenly lets out a loud huff through his nose and balls his hands into fists, snarling at Lance with the guise of a wolf, “Aren’t you seeing it?” Lance cocks an eyebrow at Keith right as he gets closer to him and juts a finger into his chest, “Your moves are _better._ You cut smoother, the tricks you have done are _leagues_ better than before. I’m not just making you do this for your health, even though that is _also_ why you should warm up.” 

Lance furrows his brow, unconvinced and making it plain for the other to see, which seems to annoy Keith even more than before as he snaps at him again with an offhanded gesture to the sand and furrowed brows, “I fucking know what I’m talking about, Lance!”

With a sudden wave of emotion he can’t explain Lance reaches down, tears off his leash, and tosses the rope in his direction. A gauntlet thrown between them, “Then why don’t you get in the water and prove it?”

Keith goes deadly silent. He stares at the leash in the sand, his face suddenly grows so starkly cold and reserved that Lance is chilled in a way that he was not prepared for. Slowly Keith looks up, scanning Lance’s features with a closeted expression before he slowly tastes his words as he murmurs them, “I have nothing to prove to you.” 

With that he picks up his waterbottle from the ground and turns his back on Lance, “We’re done for today.” 

Lance straightens, picking up his phone from the ground to check the time before shouting back, “Hey! We’ve got another forty minutes!” Keith doesn’t turn towards him, he only continues straight towards his house. “Keith!” Even though Lance calls after him it does nothing, Keith doesn’t turn around until he’s inside his own home, out of Lance’s sight. 

Lance growls in frustration to himself as he kicks the sand, stubbornly sitting down afterwards and digging his fists into the soft ground and burying them in their warmth. 

He’s pissed, but now he’s not sure what for. He feels slighted, like Keith had called him a moron for all intents and purposes, but now he also has a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach like he’d crossed a line. It isn’t _unreasonable_ for him to ask for Keith to surf with him, is it? Well, that’s not what he was _really_ asking… but what kind of surfing coach doesn’t get in the water? The constant back and forth from land to water wore Lance out more than the moves, and if Keith knew so much then why doesn’t he fucking… show it? That’s not a stupid expectation… right? 

Lance sighs forcefully, counting his breaths in and out to pull himself under control before he texts Pidge. _“Can I get a ride home now?”_

He gets a response about five minutes’ worth of slow breathing later, _“Shit ok omw”_

Slowly but surely Lance returns to himself before he starts to pack his stuff up. Keith left his umbrella out, but Lance figures he’ll come get it later, after he had left. Because, after all, this is _his_ beach. 

After that thought Lance has to take another minute to simply _breathe_ so he doesn’t go marching to Keith’s door to beat him over the head with the umbrella. Or his board. Whichever works. 

He’s just such a fucking _know-it-all._ And based on what? Lance had only seen him surf at that competition years ago, what if he just had a lucky day? What if he actually sucked? Something in Lance’s gut told him that was absolutely off base, but what else was the reason why he refused to get into the water with him now? Why did he _insist_ on going at a _glacial_ pace with him when he knows just as much as he does? What was the point of it? 

All of this, with much more flowery language, was reported to Pidge and Hunk when they come to pick him up. He didn’t question when Pidge had gotten Hunk, he was too pissed to give a fuck at the moment.

Hunk’s twisted to look at the back seat where he sits in the front, his arms perched on the back of the seat as he speaks in a gentle manner, “I understand, bro. It sounds really frustrating.” 

Lance lets out a groan and throws his hands in the air, “It _is!_ I just don’t fuckin- _get_ him! Does he think I’m dumb? Pidge, does he think I’m dumb?” 

Wordlessly they shake their head, and silence falls over the car only briefly before Hunk picks up the dropped conversation, “I mean, he isn’t wrong, warming up is good for any athlete.” 

Lance sighs and throws his hands in the air, “Yeah, but we were warming up _the whole time!_ That’s just excessive!” Hunk shrugs at him a bit in response, his head in his hands as he gives him an intent, understanding expression. “He’s just so weird about it, I think he just thinks he’s better than me. I mean, he refused even to get in the water with me, said he had ‘nothing to prove to me’. Like, how fucking pretentious is that? Then he just stormed off! Like a fucking- emo _bastard._ ” Lance sighs, letting his head fall back as he calls out with a rhetorical tone, “It’s weird that he won’t get in the water. Right? That’s weird, right?”

The silence in the car hangs perfectly for a long while before suddenly Pidge speaks for the first time since he got in the car, “Lance… Have you thought that maybe you stepped on his toes a bit, and that’s why he reacted like that?” 

Lance blinks, balking in surprise before his eyebrows furrow, “What’s… what? What do you mean I ‘stepped on his toes’?”

“Well…” Pidge pauses, frowning slightly as they scrunch their nose to push up their glasses, “You remember what happened at the competition.” Their hazel eyes flicker to the rearview to meet Lance’s blues as their words settle over him like a blanket, “Maybe he doesn’t like to surf anymore because of… you know, that?”

“Oh, _oh,_ that would be bad.” Hunk says with a sudden inhale of breath, his teeth bared as he verbally winces, “And there’s that psych minor coming out.” Pidge smacks his arm playfully in response, though it is missing its true fire.

Lance huffs, furrowing his eyebrows as he slides down in his seat, crossing his arms as he retorts, “Well- I just-...” He wants to argue with them, but the more he thought about it, the more his chest iced over with guilt and something darker, something that threatened to crawl into his throat and choke him. “... You don’t think I should have asked him to get in the water?” 

Pidge holds up a hand in surrender as they drive, “All I’m saying is that there’s probably a reason why Keith doesn’t go in with you, that’s all. I don’t know if that’s it, or if it’s something else entirely, but based on what you said and how he reacted… I dunno man.” 

Hunk changes the subject to the game shop they’ve been obsessed with recently, Lance thinks it’s to distract him, and it works marginally, but he isn’t really listening to what he’s saying. By the time they drop him off at home his thoughts have slowed to a crawl, and his mouth is dry by the time he’s put away his board and he’s in the shower, rinsing the sea-salt and sand off of himself.

Maybe… maybe he _had_ crossed a line, demanding Keith get in the water. He was just so _mad,_ he was treating him like he was some twelve year old who had never surfed before, who was _he_ to treat him like he knew nothing? But thinking about what Pidge said, reflecting on the fight, he realizes that he might have been a bit… presumptuous. In the logical part of his brain he recognizes that what Keith had said was right - begrudgingly so - … warming up is important, and mastering the basics does help with the more advanced moves… and he did feel like he was doing better by the end of it. _Fucking hell._

Lance shampoos his hair as his thoughts begin to turn in on themselves and the guilt truly settles, icing over his veins just like the cold that seized Keith’s expression when he’d demanded he get in the water. What if Pidge is right? That day fucked up Lance pretty bad, it fucked them _all_ up pretty bad… but Keith is Shiro’s brother. He had a deeper insight than Lance could ever dream of having. If Lance quit surfing after that… maybe Keith did, too. But more permanently than Lance did. 

And then Lance had to go and act like _that._

Once Lance was in his bathrobe, going through the steps of his skincare routine, he resolves that he’ll have to apologize. Over text is fine… but it needs to be said before it’s too late. After he had his facemask on he opens his phone, and much to his shock he sees in his inbox a text from Keith. 

_“I’m sorry for cutting off session early today. You don’t have to pay for the last hour.”_ That was a half hour ago, a little bit after Pidge had picked Lance up, then another from while he was in the shower, _“Are we still on for Saturday?”_

Lance texts him back swiftly, _“Sorry, was in the shower. Yeah, I’m still game for Saturday.”_ After sending the response text he begins meticulously crafting his apology message. Texts he hates to send… but one he needs to send anyway. He could do this. 

_“Sorry I was kind of an asshole back there. You’re right about the warmup thing. I was just frustrated because I felt like you were treating me like a newbie or something. I know that’s not an excuse, but I’ll try not to be a dick next time.”_ He bites his lip as he reads over the text multiple times, changing some words, adding punctuation for authenticity, before hitting send. There’s a text from Allura asking if she could bring Romelle over for the night, he texts back an affirmation before he washes off his facemask and gets dressed in his pajamas before he heads into the living room. 

Veronica is reclining on the couch when he walks in; he doesn’t remember seeing her there when he came in but she looks like she’s been lying there for hours, her feet are kicked up on the arm and her hand is draped over her face dramatically. The backdoor is open, and the constant drum of the ocean waves on the beach below fill the room like smoke. “Long day?” Lance asks with a slight smirk as he sits on the arm of the couch over her head. 

Her eyes slightly part and peer up at him with a semi-accusing glare, her gaze like a midnight sea in the dim lights of falling evening sun shining into the room. “Yeah.” She grumbles, pinching her brow as she repositions her arm over her eyes more effectively. “Migraine.” 

Lance frowns at this, looking down at his sister with growing worry, “Have you taken Ibuprofen or something?” 

She grunts in response as she gestures to a cup of water beside her on the coffee table, Lance hands it to her wordlessly. She downs the rest of the glass, and once it’s empty Lance takes it from her to refill it from the filter on the tap in the kitchen. “I’ll be watching videos in my room, then.” He murmurs to her as he sets the water by her, she grunts again in affirmation of having heard him as he retreats to his room. 

Veronica has always been prone to chronic migraines but it’s happened much more often recently because of her job. The fresh air from the back porch and the minimal light in the living room helps with it; her bedroom is the best-lit place in the apartment, which is unfortunate for moments like this, so he gives her the space she needs when she gets them by giving her free reign of the living room. He pulls out his phone and blasts a text to Allura warning her of it as he closes his bedroom door behind him, to his delight and surprise he sees a text from Keith waiting for him when he collapses on his bed. _“Yeah, you were kind of an asshole.”_ Lance lets out a hard breath, his annoyance spiking only momentarily before he reads the rest of the message, _“But I didn’t know you felt that way. That’s not true at all.”_ There was a two minute pause between messages, the last one was sent just a minute ago, _“You’re really good, Lance. I wouldn’t train you if I didn’t think you had what it takes.”_

For some reason something about the minimal praise - Lance thinks its the first praise Keith may have ever given him - makes Lance glow up like a firefly in the summertime. He smiles a little, his chest warms inexplicably, and all frustration and anger he had is let go so instantaneously it’s almost remarkable. 

_“Aww, a compliment? For me? ur growing soft.”_ Lance teases, sending a gif titled _‘aww-touched-bear’_ with the text as well. 

Lance waits when he sees the three little dots appear almost immediately, but it takes several minutes for Keith to actually answer him, and only with four simple words: _“Don’t forget to stretch.”_

 _Oh. Shit. Right._ Lance groans as he rolls out of bed and onto the floor, his muscles are already beginning to lock up, that is until he starts stretching. As he touches his toes he texts him back, _“Pfft, how could I? Already did it.”_

_“Oh? Did you?”_

Lance huffs as he switches feet. _“Yes, I did!”_ As an afterthought he tacks a second text to the first, _“Just doing some extra now to satisfy u. ur so demanding.”_

Keith doesn’t text Lance back until he’s about halfway through his stretches. _“That’s what a good coach does, right?”_

He smiles a little to himself in response, pausing his stretches to text him back, _“Right, u would know, u had the best coach out of everyone on the planet.”_ It’s a bit risky, but Lance sends it anyway, his heart hammering a little in his chest as he anticipates Keith’s response. He selfishly wants to hear about the personal details Keith could provide about Shiro, while also glean some more information out of the mysterious guy occupying the Castle. The more Lance thinks about him, about the time they spend together, the amount of times he’s pissed him off… maybe he’d get less pissed off sometimes if he understood him better. Since today happened mostly because he was a bit of a touchy asshole… He could stand to learn some more about Keith, maybe use that information to do some reparations in the future.

Lance’s phone buzzes and he picks it up quickly while he’s stretching his hamstrings, reading Keith’s text swiftly, _“Who?”_

Lance blinks incredulously as he texts him back, _“Shiro! He taught u rite?”_

The three dots appear after a brief pause, _“Oh. Yeah, he did.”_ Nothing else is sent, even after Lance finishes his stretches, leading him to believe that that’s all he has to say on the matter. _Alright, then._

 _Let’s try something more benign. Operation Learn-About-Keith is a go._ He picks up his phone as he gets back into bed and pulls on his headphones, texting Keith after he puts on some music, _“So whatcha u up to?”_

He finds a video to watch on Youtube, just a run of the mill Vine compilation, when Keith responds, _“Walking my dog.”_

Lance types back enthusiastically, _“OMG pics!!!”_

About halfway through the compilation pictures come into his inbox of a large German Shepherd among bushes, running past the photographer, a pale hand scratching his ear as he smiles for the camera, Lance almost dies on the spot it’s so fucking cute. _“I would die for him. What’s his name?”_ Lance responds with complete, playful seriousness. 

_“Kosmo.”_

_“Oh, I get it, Cosmo was taken.”_

_“No, it’s on his collar.”_

Lance furrows his eyebrows at this as he types back, _“u mean that’s what the shelter named him?”_

 _“No, it’s on his collar.”_ This text is sent with a picture, the same pale hand of the photographer holding the German Shepherd’s collar in view of the camera, the brand name _K O S M O_ written in capital letters on the side of the blue leather. 

Lance hesitates, wondering if Keith is trying to make some elaborate joke of some kind before he texts him back, _“That’s the brand.”_

_“Yeah, it’s on his collar.”_

_“... Yeah, because that’s the brand that made the collar.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“... You named your dog after a brand?”_

_“It was already on the collar.”_

Lance almost laughs out loud at this, he has to stifle it with a hand over his mouth as he texts him back, _“u could’ve gotten him a tag with a different name on it”_

_“But it was already on the collar.”_

_“Yes, so u said lmao. You’re killing me, Keith.”_

_“Sorry, I don’t mean to?”_

_“No no, in a good way, I’m literally lmao rn.”_

_“You mean breathing out of your nose harder than usual?”_

_“How dare u call me out like this”_

_“So I’m right.”_

_“So ur no fun.”_

_“I’ve yet to be called entertaining by anyone.”_

_“Ur entertaining me a lot rn if it’s any consolation”_

_“I’m glad to be of service.”_

… 

Lance and Keith texted back and forth far into the night until the other fell asleep on him while he was rewatching a John Mulaney special. The next morning Lance wakes up to more pictures of Kosmo, this time going through town, with a caption from Keith, _“Since you liked the ones yesterday so much...”_

Lance loved them. And he made sure Keith knew as such. He kept his favorites, which were hard to decide, and texted him a good morning before he got up and got ready for his day. He was relieved that they were in a good standing, but even more than that he’s happy that he’s finding Keith to be… enjoyable to talk to. As the day wore on, while he was at work Lance would sneak his phone out during slow minutes to text Keith some more, continuing with his mission to learn more about the guy. He asked about how he got the house - apparently it belonged to his dad, his _birth dad,_ so he moved there to give Shiro some space. Although, based on his tone, Lance thinks there’s definitely something more to it than that, but he doesn’t want to press him. He’s reserved, he proved that if he doesn’t want to talk about something then he won’t talk about it, so Lance is doing his best to find the okay-topics to talk about and question him on it. It opened up some retaliatory questions from Keith from there, asking about what his living situation was like, which led to Lance explaining his roommate situation with Allura and Veronica, one of his best friends who he used to have a crush on and his sister. 

_“That must be weird for you, if you used to have a crush on her.”_

_“Not anymore. I like being friends more, u no?”_

There was a long break, hours, until he answered, _“I guess.”_

To change the subject, Lance started on about his other friends. He told him about Hunk, who has a dream of opening a restaurant on the pier once he gets out of culinary school. He told him that Pidge is his chauffeur, basically anyway, and that they’ve been having issues with transphobes at work. 

_“So im not saying that I might miss practice because im in jail for breaking their boss’s kneecaps, but I might be in jail for breaking their kneecaps.”_

_“I don’t blame you. If I were you, their kneecaps would already be broken.”_

Lance smirks quietly to himself. He’s out at dinner with his friends at the moment, they got stuff off of a taco truck and are camping out on a picnic table outside of it, the whole gang except Pidge was able to get together tonight _,_ but as soon as he feels his phone buzz in his pocket he pulls it out discretely to keep texting Keith. _“ur kind of a force of nature aren’t u?”_

_“When I need to be.”_

Allura is passionately talking about one of her colleagues, Romelle interrupts only occasionally to add a helpful detail that Lance isn’t listening to at all in the slightest because his mind is on his brooding… coach? Friend? Are they technically friends? Keith sent him pictures of his dog twice, that’s gotta mean friend status now, right? _“lmao you really push that emo look huh?”_

His response is relatively immediate. _“What do you mean?”_

_“I mean… come on, the black clothes… the broody bad boy demeanor… Oh and the motorcycle. I bet your favorite band in high school was MCR wasn’t it?”_

_“Who?”_

Lance stares at his phone with absolute shock. _“My Chemical Romance???”_

_“Never heard of them.”_

Lance has to fight the urge to gasp out loud. _“How the hell do you, *you* of all people, not know MCR? ur like, the poster boy!”_

_“I don’t really listen to modern stuff.”_

_“They’re not!! They only recently got back together again, I figured you would’ve been screaming about that! Aight fuck it, if not them then what music do u listen to? u do listen to music, don’t u?”_

_“Mostly old stuff, like Nirvana, ACDC, Queen.”_

Lance releases the tension in his shoulders with a slightly relieved huff. _“Well, that’s still pretty on brand. I love Queen, too!! But I don’t know anyone who doesn’t lol”_

“Hey, what’s got you smiling so much tonight?” 

Lance looks up from his phone and cows a little when he sees all of his friends staring at him, giving him mixed looks of curiosity, though Veronica looks a bit more mischievous than anything else. “What? Nothing, what’s got _you_ smiling so much?” He fires back at Hunk, who had originally asked. 

He raises an eyebrow at him a bit incredulously in response, “You’ve been nonstop on your phone all day! … Did you redownload Tinder or something?” 

Lance immediately flushes a bright red, sheltering his phone against his chest before he realizes he’s doing it and then shoves it in his pocket quickly instead, “What?! No! Not at all! Just…! Just been texting Keith. That’s all, no Tinder or nothing like that, at all!” 

“Oh, do we like Keith now?” Romelle asks with a questioning glance thrown at Allura, who briskly nods with a serious expression. 

Veronica immediately begins to snicker, “Oh yeah? And what are you talking about?” 

Lance isn’t sure why, but his face just keeps growing redder and redder and he feels more and more like a puppy caught in the treats as he huffs, “Well, Queen, if you gotta know. Nothing weird about that!” 

“No, not weird,” Hunk profers with his hand raised in surrender, his tone is diplomatic and amicable as if he’s trying to talk Lance down, “Just surprising, that’s all! Did things clear up after your spat yesterday?”

Lance sighs a little, the embarrassment he feels merely changing directions as he fiddles with his hands on the table top, “Yeah, I apologized. He was nice about it, and we got to talking… he’s actually a pretty cool guy.” 

“You should invite him to Rita’s or something sometime.” Allura proposes, flashing Lance a brilliant smile, glancing over at Hunk with a knowing look that Lance doesn’t care for at all, “So we can finally meet your _mentor._ ” 

“He’s not my mentor!” Lance grumbles indignantly, fingering the edge of his glass as he struggles with words, “He’s more like… a guy… who knows about surfing… and is helping me get better!” 

“Fine, your coach.” Veronica huffs with a dismissive wave, prompting Lance’s face to bloom bright red. “Same difference. If you’re gonna be seeing this dude three times a week and he _isn’t_ a hooker, then I wanna meet him.” 

Lance’s face could not be any redder. He couldn’t even imagine Keith being someone who- he can’t even imagine him being a guy with a sex drive nevertheless- well, maybe he could, with those jeans of his… _wait a minute this is not what I should be thinking about- what the hell, Lance?_ “What, am I not allowed to have a life outside of you guys?” He huffs indignantly, half distracted by his own derailed train of thoughts. 

“No!” “Of course-!” Veronica and Hunk speak at the same time, before giving each other looks of disapproval. 

Allura metaphorically picks up the fallen banner and faces Lance fully with her margarita between her slender fingers, “We’re just curious, Lance. If you don’t want to that’s your decision, but we care about you, and if this guy’s a part of your life then we just wanna see what kind of person he is. That’s all.” 

“Well that makes it sound so intense.” Lance jokes with a dismissive wave of his hand in her direction, “It’s just like… he’s just a guy doing me a favor. That I’m paying him for. So…” Lance feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and he has to fight the urge to straighten upright in excitement when he realizes it’s probably a text from Keith. “... So that’s that!” 

“Well, think about it and get back to us, then.” Allura murmurs as she takes a sip of her margarita. 

Romelle beside her pipes up then, smiling with a genuine light in her eyes as she rests her face in her hands, elbows perched on the tabletop, “Well, can you at least tell us a little about him?”

Lance pouts a little in response. He wants to pull out his phone to text Keith back _now_ but he supposes he can wait; his friends ought know at least _some_ stuff about him. “I guess. Uh… He used to live with Shiro, who lives in Texas now, fun fact-” 

Hunk snorts, “I’m shocked you had to learn that fact from _him_. Don’t you still have his Insta on notifications?” 

Lance shoots him a glare but ignores it for the sake of the narrative. “But _apparently_ his birth dad- because Shiro’s his foster brother - left him the Castle when he passed, which was apparently a while ago, around when Keith was born. He didn’t tell me much more than that but apparently that’s how he’s living there now.” He gasps suddenly,whipping out his phone as he perks up audibly, “And he has a dog! It’s actually so dumb, he’s called Kosmo because that’s the brand name of the collar he got him and decided to stick with it, how dumb is that? Look at this good boy!” He pulls out his favorite pictures of Kosmo that he’d saved that morning, one of him bounding over some bushes like a graceful antelope, another of his ears getting scratched by the photographer, and a third of him on his back with his paws in the air, again getting belly rubs from the photographer. 

Immediately his friends _ooo_ and _aww_ over him, fawning with each picture before he puts his phone back in his pocket, but not before Lance gets a chance to see Keith’s responding text, _“Haha true. What music do you listen to?”_ He’ll have to answer him later. He doesn’t want to open himself to anymore teasing, especially from Veronica, who has been looking at him with a particularly devious look ever since he started talking, like she can see something in his head that he can’t. 

He relays the information he knows about Keith to his friends, though as he goes he realizes that there really isn’t a whole lot he knows about him save for these facts. His favorite color? Nope. He knew he dropped out of college and that he was gonna go into the visual arts but which art? Was he a dancer, a drawer, art historian, or some other mode that Lance didn’t know? It was hard for him to imagine Keith in any of those settings, which may be why he decided to drop out. Well, maybe he can imagine Keith dancing if he really pushes himself… 

He realizes these shortcomings as Romelle, being the mom-shaped friend she is, kept asking him follow up questions such as these that Lance didn’t have an answer to. Eventually, when Lance had run out of things to say, the conversation shifted away and Lance was given a moment to excuse himself to go to the bathroom; in reality it was just to text Keith back from within the safety of a stall. 

_“Mostly pop and stuff, whatever I hear and I like is my taste. Pidge makes fun of me for it all the time bc they say my taste is garbage but how can someone this good looking have any garbage taste, u no what im saying ;)”_

By the time Lance has finished washing his hands he gets a text back: _“Haha”_

Lance huffs, completely underwhelmed, but he almost does a 180 whiplash of emotions when he sees the three dots pop up again and another message appear, _“If you project half the confidence you think you have into your moves, you’ll be top of the competition in no time.”_

Lance blinks, staring at the text for a solid minute before he finds his one working brain cell to text a response, _“O: omg was that a compliment or an insult?? I genuinely dk if I should be offended or not!!”_

He heads back to the table with his friends, feeling strangely warm throughout his chest. He turns 21 in about a couple months, but if he was legal Lance has a feeling he would’ve ordered something stiff in order to combat whatever the fuck is going on in his head right now after _that._ What _was_ that? Not the text - the text is totally in character and not all that surprising - it’s his own response. He felt touched, a little flushed, one spark of anger before it dissipated into whatever the hell _this_ is. 

_It’s probably best not to think about it._ So he doesn’t. He goes back to the table and hangs out with his friends for another half hour until they collectively decide to head home. Veronica drops Allura and Romelle off at her place on Allura’s request and then Hunk before the two of them head home. 

As soon as they’re alone, Veronica corners Lance with narrowed eyes, “Real talk: are you two banging?” 

Immediately laughter springs forth with violent waves from within Lance, he nearly keels over from laughing so hard, “What?! No! Why the fuck would you think that? I only just met the guy, I hardly know him!” 

“You know more about him than you knew about Nyma.” She counters deftly, promptly shutting Lance right the fuck up. Nyma was a friend in high school he hooked up with on and off; she’s who he lost his virginity to in his senior year. It was fine; she was a nice girl but she wasn’t interested in anything more serious than what they had and truth be told Lance was fine with it. Though, in retrospect, he feels incredibly guilty because he viewed his time with her as some kind of training for when he would be with Allura… A stupid prospect, one that’s incredibly unfair and potentially hurtful to Nyma if she ever knew, which fortunately she doesn’t, but it’s something that Lance thinks of and regrets every time he thinks about her.

Lance lets out a hard breath and crosses his arms, “Yeah, so? I’m not interested in my rival.” 

Veronica rolls her eyes with a scoff, “Your _coach_ you mean? Lotor’s your rival now. That is if you’re still taking Lotor’s challenge seriously.” 

Lance grumbles with a peeved undertone, “I _am_ taking it seriously! That’s why I’m not _banging_ my _coach_ .” Those three words together seem so alien on Lance’s tongue. Banging. Coach. Even weirder to associate _Keith_ with those words. Lance? And Keith? In Veronica’s dreams.

Veronica’s deep mediterranean hues flicker between Lance’s sea-colored eyes for a long moment, rifling through the shades of blue in search for something before she takes a step away, “Alright. As you say.” With that cryptid phrase she flashes Lance a knowing smile and strides off to her room, sealing herself away for the night.

Lance stands there for a long time, that strange feeling he got at the taco truck seeming to only get worse because of this conversation. _Does he seem like he’s interested in Keith like that? No way- 24 hours ago they were neck and neck at each other’s throats, just because they’re friendly now doesn’t mean that Lance wants to-_

He goes about his evening routine while he’s in this strange headspace, wondering all the while at _what the fuck is going on?_ He opens his texts only once he’s in bed, immediately he runs straight to Keith’s DMs. _“It’s both. Take that as you will.”_

Right. A compliment or an insult… it’s both? ‘Take that as you will?’ 

_That’s the fucking question, isn’t it?_

… 

The next day Lance wakes up to his alarm to head down to the Castle for his session with Keith. Pidge texted him that they’re on their way in a few minutes so Lance is productive with his morning routine. Veronica is in the living when he goes into the kitchen to pack his lunch, watching _Scrubs_ , but she only offers a mute greeting as he moves about the apartment. He slips back into his room to pull on his trunks, one of three that he grabbed from his parents’ place, and then to snatch up his board where it was resting on the wall. 

When he returns to the front room he slips into his flipflops to leave, right as Veronica calls out to him where he stands by the entryway, “I’ll be seeing you tonight for Catan, right?” 

Lance blinks and looks around the wall to give her a confused look, “What?”

“Hunk and Pidge wanna take us to that game shop they like so much to play Warlords Catan. We were gonna grab dinner at _Rita’s_ afterwards…” She pauses and waggles an eyebrow at him suddenly, “You should bring Keith with you so you can introduce him to the group.”

Lance huffs indignantly and rolls his eyes, deciding not to answer as he instead calls, “See you tonight!” 

“Have fun! Be safe! Don’t do drugs unless the other kids are doing them!” Veronica’s call is almost but not quite lost as Lance closes the door behind him, causing him to chuckle to himself as he makes his way down to the street corner. Pidge picks him up a few minutes later and they talk for a few minutes about tonight, apparently plans were made in the groupchat that Lance hadn’t gotten a chance to see yet. They agree to grab Lance a change of clothes later so he could get dressed in the minishower area by the Castle parking lot where they drop him off because they wanna head straight to the game shop after they pick him up later. He waves goodbye to them as they drive off before he heads through the woods and to the surf to meet up with Keith. 

As soon as Lance spots him, standing on the shoreline underneath his umbrella like a statue of Poseidon, he waves his bag in the air, “Heya! You ready to rock? Because I’m ready to _roll_!” 

Keith gives Lance a perplexed expression as he drops his stuff off under the umbrella. He’s in a black t-shirt and ripped jeans, with the legs rolled up to about midshin with his bare feet in the sand, much to Lance’s shock. “Keith! _Dios mío,_ I didn’t know you had _ankles!_ ” 

Keith huffs and lets out a long, weary sigh, shaking his head briefly before he speaks in a husky tone, “Are you ready to work?” 

Lance snorts and cracks his knuckles as if case in point, “I was _born_ ready, baby!” 

Keith raises an eyebrow as Lance falls to his haunches to latch on his board’s leash, “You’re in high spirits today- keep that off, you need to stretch first - did you work out yesterday?” 

Lance looks up at Keith incredulously as he abandons his action, “What? W- I mean, no, I was at work, I was exhausted- _Aww no_ , you’re not gonna make me do pushups in the sand, are you? I already had to dodge so many army recruiters coming out of high school…” 

At this, much to Lance’s surprise, Keith laughs. _Laughs._ He throws his head back and he smiles and everything, and something in Lance tingles and snaps like picking of guitar strings. Once Keith recovers he smirks down at Lance with his hands on his hips, “No, not today.” His smile fades as his demeanor returns to one more serious, though the thunder in Lance’s pulse remains, “But you should be working out when we’re not together. Strength and conditioning is just as important a part of the training we do here.” 

To ignore how much Lance’s heart is racing and how flushed he’s beginning to feel, he jokingly salutes Keith from his position on the ground, “Yes sir! Will do, sir! So, what’re we doing first?” 

Lance tries to ignore how suddenly sweaty his palms feel as Keith smirks down at him with the amused guise of a wolf. “Warm up first. Then we’ll get you in the water. … Sound alright with you, _cadet?_ ” 

Lance swallows thick on the lump in his throat. A noise that he cannot characterize escapes the back of his throat. Keith doesn’t seem to hear it, as he holds out a hand to help him up and proceeds to walk him through warm ups without a strange look in his direction. Lance is grateful for it, because he doesn’t know exactly what the fuck _that_ was… 

He probably shouldn’t think about it. 

He’s got a job to do after all. 

… 

Keith works Lance much harder than he did on Thursday. He has him warm up on the water just like before but then he starts with the work. _True blue_ work. First thing is he has Lance do a difficult move out on the water, come back to land for notes, then go back out to water to try it again. Before long, Lance’s arms are numb and his core is shaking, his lunch break has never been so sweet. 

And Lance isn’t quite sure, but he thinks Keith might be acting… nicer towards him. He praises him more often, his critiques don’t seem nearly as harsh, and despite the aches of going to and from land Lance is somewhat okay with it because he doesn’t dread what Keith has to say to him. He wishes he didn’t have to ride past all the waves over and over again… but thinking about what Pidge said, about how Shiro’s accident might have fucked him up… he finds that he’s much more okay with the constant back and forth because it’s respecting Keith’s boundaries. That’s something he’s more than happy to do. He only wishes that he had thought of that before he pushed on them so hard they nearly broke.

As they wrapped up for the day, Lance shoots Pidge a _pick-me-up-please_ text as he speaks to Keith, “Hey, do you mind helping me take this to the parking lot?” 

Keith gives him a look that Lance can’t quite discern for a moment before he merely shrugs, “Sure. Just let me put this back.” He pulls his own waterbottle and his umbrella out of the sand and strides back towards his shack, Lance’s gaze lingers on his shoulders as he goes. Taut shoulders that narrow towards his waist in beautiful curves, like the bends of the ocean. Lance has a strangely light feeling in his chest, like he’s walking astride clouds, yet he has no fucking idea why. 

He tries to puzzle it out once Keith is gone from view, he really only _can_ puzzle it out once he’s gone from view, so he does while busying his hands by packing up his things. _These feelings are strange, right? This is… it’s like when I was back in high school with Allura, and she would take pictures of me surfing. I’d get this same feeling after, when we’d part ways. But that doesn’t make any sense, because that would have to mean…_

_Oh fuck no. There’s no way. That can’t be true, I’ve only known this dude for something like a week. It’s probably just the nerves and the exhaustion. Yeah, yeah, definitely just the nerves and the exhaustion… Did a lot of paddling back and forth… wow my arms are hella sore…_

When Keith returns Lance sets his head down to lift his board onto his shoulder, Keith assists by getting his bag of trash from his lunch. He notices that he’d gotten shoes while he was inside, a pair of black doc martens. It suits him, this emo look of his, it’s strangely becoming, which only makes Lance’s head spin all the more as they make their way through the trees, hopping the fence to make it back to the parking lot. Strangely becoming. _What?_

When he arrives Pidge is already there, leaning on the hood of the car with a pile of cloth in their arms while Hunk is in the backseat fishing out the straps to get his board on the roof. “Hey, there you are!” Pidge calls, waving the clothes in their hands at him once they break the treeline, “I got you your clothes, go get the sand off you and get in.” 

“Damn, alright, alright.” Lance huffs as he hands off the board to a grinning Hunk, taking the clothes from Pidge to walk over to the showering areas by the edge of the public beach. Behind him as he goes he can vaguely hear Hunk speak, and Keith’s voice answer. 

It’s pretty crowded in the public bathroom, lots of people wanting to wash the sand from the public beach, so it takes him a few minutes to get under a faucet and then in a stall to change but all things considered he’s going at the speed of light by the time he makes it back to the car.

Just in time to hear Pidge speaking to Keith. “... Rita’s afterwards. You should come with us! If you’re not busy.”

_Fuck._

Keith blinks with a surprised expression, his arms crossed over his chest as his gaze slides to Lance’s and for a moment he hesitates, simply struck by the stare. It’s surprising, the kind of effect it has on him, but he doesn’t let himself get too distracted as he pulls his eyes away from Keith’s to fix it upon Pidge, “What are you doing?” 

Pidge grins back at him with all teeth as Hunk answers on their behalf, “Asking if Keith wants to come play Catan with us! Since he is gonna be your coach, we wanna get to know him better! You know, make sure he’s a worthy replacement.” He winks knowingly at Lance with a charming smile, one that would work like a charm if Lance wasn’t already apprehensive as hell. 

He looks back to Keith and sees his open expression, his gaze like blooming violets flickering with uncertainty in the sunlight glued to Lance’s own. Asking for permission, perhaps, or gauging Lance’s reaction, either or Lance thinks. 

_… You know what? Fuck it. What’s the worst that can happen?_

Lance shrugs and gestures to the car, “I mean, if you want to, by all means.” 

Keith looks at Lance, looks at the car, looks at Pidge and Hunk before he begins to speak with a cautious edge to his husky voice, “Okay, then-” 

“Excellent!” Hunk claps his hands excitedly as he immediately ushers Keith into the backseat of the car, Lance not far behind him. With Lance’s board strapped safely to the roof, Pidge gets into the car and takes off onto the street, heading downtown. 

Lance risks a glance over at Keith beside him and sees his hands, clad in fingerless gloves, are worming and twisting in anxious jerks in his lap, picking at his cuticles before twiddling his thumbs. His eyes are outside, out the window and dragging on each passing car, hitching and moving, constantly moving, just like his hands. 

Lance breaks the silence first, kicking his feet up on the middle part between Hunk and Pidge’s seats, “ _Man_ am I beat. I don’t think I’ll be able to feel my arms again for at least a week.” He waves his arms before him like noodles for all present to see. 

Hunk turns around so as to face the pair in the backseat, resting his chin on his forearm, “Been working him hard, huh?” He directs this question to Keith, his eyebrow raised amicably with a friendly light in his chocolate gaze that Lance finds himself being eternally grateful for. Keith looks a little bit like he wants to bolt, but it’s hard to have a strong fight or flight response when faced with someone as sweet as Hunk. 

Keith’s expression is a mask as he slowly crosses his arms, reclining a bit in the seat by propping a knee on the back of Hunk’s, “He needs to get into shape if he’s going to be competing in the ISF.” 

Lance huffs a bit, sitting upright as he fixes Keith with a challenging stare, “Hey, I _am_ in shape! Just ‘cause I’m not ripped doesn’t mean I’m not in shape!” 

“Yeah, slim-jim is still a shape.” Pidge snickers without taking their eyes off the road, redirecting and becoming the target for Lance’s glare. 

“You need to be at the top of your game.” Keith answers evenly, snapping Lance’s eyes back to his. For a moment there’s an unspeakable tension there, like a string held between both of their hands that they are both tugging on but not to snatch it from the other, rather to maintain the tautness of the line. 

Hunk breaks the brief quiet that Lance didn’t notice until it was gone, “I’ve been trying to make sure he eats right. That was my job for the last competition two years ago… well, not my _job_ but like, that’s what I care about so I took it upon myself to do, you know?” He smiles suddenly, cracking his knuckles as he turns to Lance, “Speaking of, I’m making you _carnitas_ for dinner sometime this week. I finally nailed down the way to cook the pork and the chicken that keeps the moisture and flavor in without a crockpot and I need a taste tester.” 

Admittedly, Lance’s mouth immediately begins to water at the thought. “Oh… Don’t tempt me with a good time.” Lance purrs playfully, smirking as Pidge pulls into a parking lot. They’ve gone further inland, towards the upside of town, and where they are parked is a plaza full of laundry mats and nail salons, but on the far corner as they get out of the car Lance spots the place in question, _One-Eyed Jacques_. It looks iffy from here, but as they get closer Lance can see the interior and gets a bit more of a homey feel rather than shitty-GameStop feel. 

As they approach, Lance hears his name on the wind, and when he turns he sees Veronica approaching with Allura and Romelle behind her, arm in arm. As they melt groups they spot Keith, who stands with his hands in his pockets and his bangs in his eyes, and seem to freeze, bubble, then burst. Veronica immediately grants him a grin and extends a hand to shake, “You must be this Keith we’ve been hearing so much about! I’m Veronica, the sibling that stole all the braincells before Lancey could get any.” She winks over at Lance with a flash of canine as he blows a raspberry in her direction. 

Keith slowly shakes her hand, humming under his breath, “Nice to meet you.” 

Allura smiles as she further entangles her arm with Romelle’s, “I’m Allura, and this is my girlfriend Romelle.” Her smiles persists, though her tone grows more serious and polite as her gaze flickers between Keith and Lance, “You may not know this, but we’re very appreciative for your efforts to train our Lance; as much as he’ll never admit it, he needed your help.” 

Noting the tension in Keith’s shoulders as he eyes the women, Lance steps in with a protective huff, “Hey, I would’ve gotten by just fine without him!” He glances over at Keith and quickly adds, “But… it is a little easier this way.” Lance finds Keith’s gaze is firmly planted on his when their eyes meet, it’s fiery and intense in a way that Lance wasn’t prepared for, like he’s searching for something. But for what, Lance couldn’t say. 

“Well, this is great that you came by, now we can bond and interrogate you over a nice, civil game of Catan.” Veronica chuckles with a devious smirk, winking at Keith in a way that makes Lance’s stomach clench as she saunters towards the game shop, “In we go!” 

And in they went. The guy at the register got them the game from off the shelf, and in the back of the shop they set up the game where they had tables for people to play their massive variety of boardgames on. Truly, Lance thought it was a wicked awesome concept, a great way for them to convince people to buy their games, or at least to get people to come into the shop. 

After explaining the rules to those who did not know them, namely Keith, they played, and all the while the others interrogated Keith about every possible facet of his life that Lance could imagine, mostly the girls though Hunk wasn’t helping. How long was he in California? (About a year). Did he like it? (Good as any other place). Was he planning on staying here? (Again, good as any other place). Where is he from originally? (The answer is Texas, much to Lance’s shock). What was it like growing up with Shiro? 

Most of those questions Keith answered with a few words or less, not entirely wanting to delve deeper into any of them unless further pressed. Lance tried to help him out every once in a while, making some sort of joke or something to try and distract the group’s attention but in some way or another the subject always wound its way back to Keith. Lance was hungrily lapping up the information when it was given, don’t get him wrong, but he also felt bad because Keith looked like a stiff board under such scrutiny. The questioning continued up until Pidge declared all out war on Lance for taking away all of their land to get wood, but mostly it was because of how many wood jokes Lance was able to make based off of that alone. _“Anyone want some of my wood? I have plenty to share, so much long, hard wood, up for grabs for everyone!”_

This granted him some laughs, glares, and groans from the others, but most importantly it distracted them long enough for Keith to shift from central focus, and now that they were speaking more as a collective, talking about their days, the game’s strategy, Lance could look over at Keith without feeling guilty. 

He looks much less like he’s strapped to a chair ready to be waterboarded, which is really a great improvement, but it’s only later when Lance was able to push Pidge off to the corner of the map, prompting them to scream obscenities at him so loud that management came over to tell them to shut up, that Lance got to see him smile. And smile he did, with a full row of teeth and crinkles by his eyes and he laughs rather hard, too. Not nearly as hard as Hunk laughed, but it’s something. It _stirs_ something, at least. Lance’s stomach got all twisted up and confused and warm when he looked over at him. He isn’t sure why, even when they wrapped up the game and convinced Keith to come with them to Rita’s afterwards. He came along, not begrudgingly, not enthusiastically, but quietly. Keith is… quiet. That’s the best way to describe him. Yet for some reason, Lance couldn’t not be looking at him, though. Analyzing his movements, his gaze, his expression, trying to glean how he was feeling and what that meant for him. _What did that mean for him?_

The whole while at _Rita’s_ Lance laughed and joked as usual but with a strange feeling of tautness deep in his chest, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop on his emotions. But nothing happens. Nothing huge, anyway, no big revelation or scandal. Hunk tells an embarrassing anecdote about Lance in high school that makes Keith look at him with a bright smile and a light in his eyes that makes Lance’s stomach turn over. He even offered a quip that made Veronica gasp in shock, _“Who knew you had a sense of humor?”_ Lance looked on with wide eyes, surprised, taken aback, _confused._ He spent so long dwelling on what the fuck his emotions were doing that before he knew it the night was over and Pidge was driving them home, Keith first. 

“Thanks for coming out with us tonight, man!” Hunk calls with an excited grin, waving at him as Keith gets out of the car. 

Lance snaps to, suddenly realizing the night was at an end and that he was spacey through almost all of it. He leaned out the window, nodding enthusiastically, “Yeah!” 

At the sound of Lance’s voice Keith turns around with his hands at his sides. He’d directed them to the entrance to his driveway to be dropped off rather than at the usual parking lot; it’s hidden away between trees, hard to spot except for the mailbox on the roadway. When he meets his eyes Keith gives him the smallest, most sheepish of smiles and a slight wave, “Thanks for having me along.”

Lance feels a genuine smile pull itself across his face as he leans an elbow out the window so he can lean out a bit more, speaking in a warm tone, “I’ll text you if we’re hanging out again before Tuesday, if you wanna tag along again.” 

“I think he’ll need to recover from _this_ time first, Lance!” Pidge snorts with a laugh over their shoulder. 

Keith’s smile broadens slightly as the emergence of stars in the dusky sky reflect in the lilac hues of his gaze, “Yeah, sure, if you want.” 

More words are on the tip of Lance’s tongue but he doesn’t get the chance to say them as Pidge puts the car in reverse and drives off, leaving Keith to be a mere shadowy figure in the rearview glass. _I do want._ Lance tastes the words on his lips, inaudible anywhere save in his own head, _I do want._

“He seems really nice!” Hunk recounts once they’d been on the road for a minute, Lance puts his window back up as Pidge starts on the route towards his apartment, “Surprisingly funny.” 

“Yeah, didn’t see that one coming.” Pidge chuckles under their breath. Lance looks in the rearview to find Pidge’s hazel eyes, dull gold in the fallen sunlight of dusk, meeting his. “Thoughts on your former rival?” They ask innocently with a cocked brow. 

Lance flushes, but he has no clue why. He clears his throat to disguise the choked noise he wants to make and instead speaks with a crackling voice, “Uh, yeah! I mean, he seems cool. He’s a good coach.” He pulls his gaze out the window, at the skyline of the ocean in between towering apartments and alleyway dumpsters. He can’t help but think that the sunless sky just before the moon claims it looks a lot like the color of Keith’s gaze when they would meet over the round, wooden table of their usual booth at _Rita’s_. 

“... You like him, don’t you?” 

Lance chokes on his own spit so violently he almost has a seizure in the backseat. _“WHAT?! WHY WOULD-_ Wait.” He clears his throat and tries to save himself, “I mean, why wouldn’t I like him? Platonically, yeah, he’s pretty cool… um… not the other way though I don’t- why would you-? _”_

Pidge groans over the sound of Lance’s breakdown with surprising ease despite their smaller frame, “God fucking _damnit!_ Now I owe Veronica $5.” 

This pulls Lance out of his induced state enough to focus his words but little else. “You-... you _bet_ on whether or not I liked _Keith?_ ” 

“Oh yeah.” Hunk waves a hand dismissively as Pidge takes a left turn, “Of course they did, as soon as you came and ranted about him that one time in your kitchen.” 

Lance fumes with bright red smoke across his visage, immediately snapping back sharply “I do _not_ like _Keith!_ ’

Pidge and Hunk in unison both look back at him, Pidge through the rearview mirror and Hunk by swiveling in his seat. 

Lance curls his nose, his hands clenched into quick fists, “I don’t! I barely know the guy!” 

Pidge raises an eyebrow a tad incredulously, “Really? After tonight?” 

It was by this time they were pulling up to his apartment. Lance quickly hops out of the car and swipes his trunks from the backseat before he went about unlashing his board from the roof, being quick about his actions as embarrassment swaddled his being. 

Hunk steps out of the car and starts to help him as well, murmuring as he does, “Sorry man, we didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything.” 

Lance takes his board off of the top with Hunk’s help, and pauses on the street corner as the other ducks back into the car to return him his old remains of his lunch back. Once they make eye-contact the gentle hues of earth within his gaze settle on Lance’s, putting him at ease, “We won’t push you on it.” Hunk murmurs, handing him off the bag, “We just care about you is all, and want you to be happy.” 

Despite the tension in Lance’s shoulders he can’t help but relax a little thanks to Hunk’s words. He takes the bag from him and gives him a slight smile, “Thanks, man. I’ll uh… see you guys later.” With a deft wave he sees off his friends as they drive away, feeling the turbulence in his soul only escalate as he heads inside. 

Allura and Romelle are on the couch, curled up comfortably together watching what looks like the beginning of some horror movie when he makes it into the apartment. Unable to help himself, Lance smirks and creeps up behind them with a low hiss, “Watch out for the shadows-!”

Both of them shriek and on instinct Romelle smacks Lance in the face with a throw pillow, sending him sprawling backwards. “Oh-! I’m sorry, Lance, are you alright?” She gasps, dropping the pillow into Allura’s lap as she looks at Lance with wide, apologetic, owlish eyes.

Allura is not nearly as amused. “It’s what he gets for trying to scare us. Good job, babe.” She sticks out her tongue at him as Lance dusts himself off from the floor and rises once again. 

Lance rolls his eyes and laughs as he heads to the bathroom to begin his nightly ritual, “Just don’t fuck on the couch, please, good company sits there.” 

Romelle gasps, scandalized, “We would _never!_ ” However, as soon as the bathroom door is closed Lance can mutely hear her mutter to Allura, “We should totally fuck on the couch.” 

Lance restrains his giggles so they don’t think that he heard them, instead focusing on washing his face. By the time he’s back in his room and getting in pajamas his thoughts have caught up to him and his stomach starts to twist and turn in unpleasant ways, ways that he wasn’t prepared for. He? Like Keith? Like _that?_ No way! 

It isn’t a matter of sexuality or anything - Lance has known he was bi since he was a freshman in highschool - it’s more a matter of… taste. Sure, Lance remembers Keith’s face way back then because he was hot, but then that quickly 180ed on him when they re-met, so to speak, a week ago. A _week_ ago. He can’t start liking someone _that_ quickly… could he? 

No. No that’s ridiculous. He quickly shakes his head as he gets into bed and pulls out his phone, only for his heart to leap embarrassingly quickly when he sees he has a text from no one other than Keith, ten minutes ago. _“Your friends are really fun, thanks for letting me tag along tonight.”_

Lance smiles to himself as he types his response swiftly, _“ofc! U can tag along anytime u want :D”_

He pulls up a video to watch to put himself to sleep, a short one as he’s pretty fucking beat, when Keith texts him back. _“If you want.”_ It’s followed, much to Lance’s absolute delight, by a picture of a familiar German Shepherd looking at the camera with his ears forward attentively, a pale hand cupping his jaw with frozen fond scratches. _“Kosmo says hi.”_

Lance’s heart is in his throat. He swallows, with difficulty, as his thumbs dash across the keyboard, _“hi Kosmo!!!!!!!”_ He chooses an edited heart eyes picture to send from his trove of reaction images saved on his phone before he settles down to watch his video, but his mind is far far away from this real doctor reacting to _Grey’s Anatomy. “If you want”_

 _I do want._ Lance thinks to himself idly, his cheeks flushing red as he thinks of the look Keith gave him when he smiled, right before Pidge hit the gas. Or when he smiled after he made the joke about wood. Or after hearing about when Lance almost got suspended for hanging chicken feathers in the P.E. teacher’s office _Home Alone_ style. _I do want._

He closes his eyes and puts his phone aside as sleep begins to take him. In his mind he can hear the distant crash of waves, it’s impossible with his window closed but Lance can imagine it anyway. About as easily as he can imagine Keith laughing. Smiling at his dumb jokes. At _him. I do want._ His heart races. His face flushes. 

Out loud, he groans with a dramatic shove of his face into the pillows. 

_Fuck._

_Maybe I do like Keith._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's weird to be writing this in the fall  
> BUT it's giving me LIFE so hERE Y'ALL GO have the beginnings of klance content!


	6. High Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is royally, royally fucked. 
> 
> He’s happy that he’s off on a better foot with Lance now, even happier that it was because they were able to talk it out and communicate like adults. Strangely enough, he’s also happy he got to meet his friends; it’s strange because he usually doesn’t like meeting new people. But for some reason, he enjoyed his nights out with the strangers immensely. 
> 
> But the question was: at what cost?
> 
> The answer? His stupid, stupid gay heart.  
> ***  
> Warning: Mentions of side character drunks and drunkenness past halfway through and NSFW at the end

Keith is royally, royally fucked. 

He’s happy that he’s off on a better foot with Lance now, even happier that it was because they were able to talk it out and communicate like adults. Strangely enough, he’s also happy he got to meet his friends; it’s strange because he usually doesn’t like meeting new people. But for some reason, he enjoyed his nights out with the strangers immensely. 

But the question was: at what cost?

The answer? His stupid, stupid gay heart. 

Because now he can’t stop thinking about Lance. Even though it’s been something like three weeks of them working together now, every time they meet doesn’t seem like enough time, Keith hungers for more. Every so often after practice Lance’s friends would invite him out and Keith would go, though not as often as he may have liked because his funds are getting a little tight. Which, again,  _ strange.  _ He  _ wants  _ to go out with them, perfect strangers… well, less strangers now. They had interrogated him  _ thoroughly _ that night, while he also got to get to know them better as well. 

Frankly, he’s enjoyed it. 

But in a side, related matter, if he’s being honest, it hurts to now have a face to the name of someone who is Lance’s type. Namely: a girl. A drop-dead  _ beautiful _ girl, too. With a girlfriend. While there doesn’t seem to be any kind of chemistry between Lance and this Allura, Keith can’t help but find his stomach tightening because of the  _ implications.  _ Namely the soul-crushing truth that he feels in the base of his throat: Lance is straight. 

It makes the furtive glances he and Lance share all that much more wretched. If he had any inklings that Lance was gay then he would’ve pounced upon him two weeks ago, but Lance telling him about Allura being his past crush almost immediately after they started getting to know each other  _ had  _ to be a sign:  _ stay away, I’m not gay. Stay away, I’m straight. _

Keith has talked Shiro’s ear off about it. The name  _ Lance  _ coming off of his lips during their semi-daily FaceTime talks at the coffee shop is becoming frequent; Keith telling Shiro about a great move Lance did today, how fast he’s improving, how skilled he is. And, more recently, against his will, more about him as a person. How fucking hilarious he is. How big his heart is, how wide his smile can be. It isn’t sitting well on his head, and even worse on his heart, because this shouldn’t be  _ happening  _ to him. He should just get over his feelings for him because there’s simply nothing to be done about it! 

But it’s hard. God, is it  _ hard.  _ Even more so with the opener to the competition two weeks away.

He straightens his leather jacket one last time, running his fingers through his bangs as he stares at himself in his small bathroom mirror. Dishevels it some more. Combs it with his fingers back into place. Dishevels it again. Pulls on his fingerless gloves and strides out to pace his living room, ready twenty minutes before Pidge is supposed to pick him up. He’ll probably be squeezed in the backseat with Lance, and either Hunk or Allura, whoever gets unlucky enough to get the shaft this time to sit in the backseat. He doesn’t like the future invasion of his personal space, so he’s mentally preparing himself for it now, though he finds that he isn’t all that bothered by the idea of Lance pressed against his flank. It’s happened twice before when they took one car. Lance smells like sea salt and soap, invigorating and cleansing and soothing. 

Not that Keith was paying attention. Not at all. 

It had been a long day for him at work that morning, but he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to see Lance - and the others of course - on a day he usually wouldn’t. The job was at the  _ Tottering Teacup _ , actually, they needed baristas, so he took up some ungodly houred shifts… but not on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Those were Lance’s days. 

Veronica apparently had a big announcement to make, as according to the group chat, and refused to say exactly what it was about until they were all present, so they were headed out to  _ Rita’s _ to find out what’s got her so excited that she’s spamming the groupchat with bees and square emojis (as in “bee” there or “bee” squared. Keith gets it now, after Lance had to DM him an explanation). 

A group chat that they added Keith to just yesterday after his session with Lance. Because Lance had asked him  _ hey do you want to be in our group chat they’re asking  _ and Keith panicked and agreed, but now that he’s in it he isn’t sure what to make of the invitation. Is he a part of their group now? Is it weird for them to have a sudden addition? Because it’s obvious, they have all been friends since high school… but strangely enough Keith doesn’t find himself feeling left out most of the time. 

The fact that each of them has their own life helps. Allura works at the marine life research team on the waterfront, Romelle teaches dance, Veronica works as a nurse at the local hospital, Hunk and Pidge are in college, going into their senior years - which is incredible to Keith because Pidge is  _ eighteen…  _ well, nineteen soon, according to them, but  _ eighteen  _ nonetheless _.  _ That simple fact told Keith that Pidge is a genius for certain; they even have an internship doing research at the tech institute nearby. Hunk is taking culinary arts classes at the moment, and Lance has his work at the surf shop. Their work is diverse enough that syncing up schedules is a chore, which is why Lance wanted him in the group chat… but it’s truly awe-inspiring to Keith. They all walk such different paths of life but find a way to (most of the time at least) get together. Shiro agreed with him when he talked to him about it in the past, and he’d expressed that he was happy that Keith had “found his people”. He doesn’t really know what that means… and he’s unsure if he wants to unpack it. Especially considering the people he’s been found by (more accurately put) are so close to this  _ fucking  _ guy. Should he unpacking that, too?

Definitely not. Because Lance is straight. Lance is  _ straight.  _ He recites the words under his breath as each of his booted feet fall on the hardwood floors of his small home, “Lance is  _ straight,  _ Lance is  _ straight. _ ” 

He can’t allow himself to think otherwise. Keith has only allowed himself to stoop to be an experiment only once before and once was enough. He was never going to make that mistake again. Unless the guy is clearly queer and comfortable with their queerness, Keith wouldn’t… do anything. That’s why he hasn’t with Lance because Lance just seems… straight to him. But his gaydar isn’t exactly spectacular… 

But he can’t afford to think like that. Lance is  _ straight.  _ Lance is  _ straight.  _ He can’t get caught up with someone who probably doesn’t like him back, someone who has only been on what could be called a friendship level for three weeks. Only three weeks… that doesn’t seem like  _ that  _ long, right? Besides… He will probably only be training Lance for another month or so, until the ISF is over, and then it’s on to something else. Something that can preferably pay his bills. 

Last time they met for session, Lance was doling over the cash and made a joke about borrowing it from his mom to pay him, but Keith got a sense that it wasn’t a joke. He knows that Lance only has a job at a surf shop on the beach, which can’t be paying him much more than minimum wage, so he cut how much Lance would owe him per session in half, $16.50 three times a week instead of $26.50. Lance objected, pulling that sweet guy,  _ “dude no I can pay you it’s fine”  _ but Keith had already made up his mind about it. It was fine, because he’d finally gotten that job, but… He hasn’t given any thought to the after. Whether Lance would want him to stick around once he wasn’t useful to him anymore.

He hears the sound of grinding gravel so he heads outside right as Pidge’s station wagon pulls up. He waves politely as he opens the door to the backseat and is greeted by Lance sitting on the far side. None of his two suitemates.  _ Suppose they’re taking Romelle’s car.  _ Keith thinks to himself as he gets in.

“Hey man!” Hunk greets from the front seat, smiling amicably. He’s shifted to turn back to face him, wearing a yellow t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off with some writing on it that Keith can’t read from this angle, and cargo shorts. 

Pidge picks up discussion once they pull out of his driveway, their summer-brown gaze reflecting behind their rounded glasses as they peer up at the rearview mirror; they are donned in a pair of color-stained overalls with a light green t-shirt underneath. “Whatcha been up to, Keith? The job’s not killing you yet, is it?”

Keith grunts in affirmation, “It’s just until I can get something better.” 

Lance whistles lowly from the other side of the backseat, “I’ll drink to that!” 

Keith can’t help but raise an eyebrow over at Lance, “You can drink?” He has to force himself not to examine Lance closely, even though they’re sitting side by side. He doesn’t want to come off as well… like he’s checking him out or something. But knowing him, and how he’s been feeling, he might end up actually doing that anyway. Which is why he’s not looking at anything but his face. 

Lance blinks at him for a moment with wide, sea blue eyes, “... No? I turn 21 in July, though!” Keith sits back in his seat, internally replaying the  _ Lance is straight  _ record in his head so as not to get caught up in how Lance’s eyes look like the skyline just after the sun rises right as the other speaks again, “Wait a second, how old are you?” 

Keith crosses his arms comfortably, feeling a little carsick he looks out the window and takes peace in the movement of palm trees as they drive down the boulevard, “I’m 21 in October.”

“Oh, cool.” Silence. “Oh awesome, that means I’m older than you! How’s it feel to be a  _ wittle baybey _ ?” Keith shoots Lance a tired look as he makes baby faces and noises at him, it shouldn’t be as endearing as it is - which is  _ completely  _ unfair - but Keith does an excellent job of maintaining a placid expression as he merely rolls his eyes and looks back out the window. 

“I don’t know, how’s it feel to be that much closer to the old folk’s home?” He counters with a sly aside.

Pidge sucks in breath in time with Hunk as they both cry out in unison,  _ “Ooooooh.”  _

“... Oh shut up.” Lance huffs indignantly, slouching in his seat as he too faces out the window, though his words lack any true fire.

They meet up with Veronica, Allura, and Romelle, who did indeed take Romelle’s car, at the restaurant. Allura is donned in business casual clothing, Romelle is in joggers and a tanktop, and Veronica’s in scrubs, probably each from their respective jobs or so Keith guesses. They head in after greetings and sit at what Keith’s begun to figure out is their usual table in the far corner by the kitchen. He orders himself some hot tea and when it comes he stirs it before him with a spoon, mostly so he has something to do instead of eat because he simply doesn’t have the funds to eat out at the present moment because he’d made the decision to go grocery shopping instead. He has food at home, so he can afford to not eat here… but he couldn’t afford missing out on being around Lance and his friends.

Now that the whole group is present and seated, Veronica doesn’t waste any time delaying her announcement. “Guess who’s head nurse in my quadrant?” She cries with a broad smile, jutting two thumbs towards her chest. 

The others resound with enthusiastic congratulations, Keith offers his own with a soft undertone as he sips his tea. He recognizes the signs of exhaustion in Veronica, even now as she speaks with excitement; bags had begun to be a tangible accessory to her. He’s happy that she’s at least making progress in what she’s working so hard for, moving up the ranks of nurses at the local hospital. Keith idly wonders how he’s not met her up until this point, considering that, besides the  _ Tottering Teacup _ by his house, the hospital’s been the other place he frequents most often. Well, that’s not true anymore, now he’s going to the game shop and  _ Rita’s  _ far more _ …  _ a positive move on his part, so Shiro says. 

It wasn’t really  _ his  _ part though. It isn’t his doing that Lance’s friend group decided to basically adopt him. But he isn’t exactly resisting it either.

“About time they recognized you!” Lance proclaims loudly, lifting his water glass to her with a large grin, “I was worried I’d have to roll up and throw a fit or something! You’ve been  _ slaving  _ for those bastards!” 

“Way ahead of you, I did the almost-crying-but-not-quite move.” Veronica says this with a joking wave of her hand in his direction.

Keith finds his eyebrows furrowing, “You shouldn’t have to beg for a promotion you deserve.”

The others turn to look at him, and for a moment Keith feels like he’s on a stage, laid bare with his arms outstretched. At least, until Allura speaks, “You’re absolutely right…” She glances off to the side to regard Veronica as she speaks with a slight frown, “However it is difficult in such a male dominated field for anyone to take a woman seriously. Or really anyone who isn’t male.”

She makes a gesture towards Pidge, who merely grumbles with a raise of their glass as they look around the bar with a disdainful look, “Yeah. Fuck the patriarchy.” 

“Here, here.” Hunk clinks his glass to Pidge’s with a friendly smile in response. 

The talk of the table devolves into idle chatter for a while as the others’ food comes, relative quiet settles over them as they enjoy one another’s company and for the moment Keith feels rather at peace. It’s not everyday that he can sit at a table full of people and feel comfortable, but something about  _ this  _ particular group has him at ease, settled, like salt at the bottom of an unstirred glass.

That is until the silence is broken by Pidge almost choking on their drink and slamming it onto the wooden tabletop, “Holy  _ shit! _ ” They whisper-yell, drawing everyone’s eyes to theirs as they look towards the entrance of  _ Rita’s _ , “You will not  _ believe  _ who just walked in!” 

Keith turns and regards a group of four people he’s never seen before, four look female presenting, the fifth as male presenting (after Keith’s mistake with Pidge he has learned to judge someone’s gender less immediately, instead giving them the benefit of the doubt, though there are some occasions where it’s unavoidable). The two of the four women bear scowls that would rival Keith’s own, one is the tallest, with muscles that Keith thinks rival Shiro’s, a dark buzzcut, and a scar across her left eyebrow; she walks arm and arm with another girl, one not scowling, who has her blond hair in a long ponytail that swings behind her with joyously bouncing movements. The other is more his own build and size with black hair cropped at her jawline and green eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. The fourth is more andogynous but female-leaning, tall but slim, wearing a black hoodie with the hood up even once they’re inside, and the fifth and final one, the one who appears to be male presenting, seems to be leading the bunch. He has long, platinum blond hair, left down to above his mid-back, and a long sleeved violet jacket that looks rather expensive with a lilac waistcoat beneath it; he  _ reeks  _ of fiscal privilege and Keith thinks that this is the kind of guy he would 100% fight if he was in a fighting kind of mood, he just seems very… punchable. Or maybe it’s just the money coming off of him in waves.

_ “Lotor.”  _ Keith blinks out of his reverie to look over at Lance once he hears the hissing remark like a swear word under his breath. His eyebrows and jaw are set in iron and his fists under the table are clenched. 

“Who?” Keith asks innocently, though in an undertone. The man at the head of the party that has the table’s attention seems to feel their collective gaze’s and his eyes lock onto them, specifically, Keith realizes, Allura. A smile, sharp as razers, rise to his canines and for a moment Keith has the urge to get in a fighter’s stance as he makes his way towards the table, the only thing probably preventing him from making any sort of preparation is the fact that he’s cornered next to Lance and Hunk in the booth. 

“Allura, how lovely to see you, again.” The man’s voice is exactly what Keith imagined; gilded and flowery, like his words are made of gold and flavored with ivory. 

Romelle, who is sitting on the far end where Allura is sandwiched between her and Pidge, turns towards him with squared shoulders and a set expression, “Can we help you?” 

_ Shit _ , Keith thinks to himself,  _ this guy must be a real piece of work if someone as sweet as Romelle is defensive. She seems like the type that a waiter could spill soup in her lap and she’d apologize for being in the way.  _

Before Keith can wonder much else, besides how stiff Allura’s back is, the man speaks again, “Yes, I believe so, it seems we have a mutual accomplice.” The man’s gaze raises once more and Keith’s hackles rise, “Keith Sh…  _ Kogane _ , is it?” 

Keith starts, now even more on guard than before as the eyes of the table flicker to him, “Who’s asking?” 

The man raises an eyebrow with a coy smirk, “Could it be possible that people still don’t know who I am? Well… I do suppose you aren’t much a part of the surfing community anymore, are you?” 

Before Keith can react, Lance to his right huffs and glares up at the man with obvious contempt, “Back off, Lotor.” 

_ Lotor.  _ Now that is a bit of a familiar name to Keith. When he heard Lance say it earlier he thought he’d misheard some Spanish word or something but no, it’s his name. A name he recognizes… but from where?

Oh right. He remembers now. Lotor, son of  _ Zarkon,  _ as in Zarkon Industries _.  _ Shiro told him about him a few times, how he’s the example of how rich kids can go unchecked when they have their daddies to back them up. Shiro felt bad for him, though, saying that he wishes he could help people like Lotor have better role models. But based on the few facts Keith can dredge up in the moment, he doubts that Lotor has any positive impressions upon him. It does make him wonder, however, if he  _ should  _ pity him like Shiro does. 

Lotor’s gaze flickers to Lance with a small light of annoyance as he gives him a once over, “Hello…? Oh, Lance. I apologize, I’d almost forgotten who you were.” Lance lets out a short puff beside Keith that’s barely audible as Lotor shifts pressure on his feet, folding his arms behind his back, “You aren’t still having those fantasies about competing at the ISF this year, are you?” It’s pointedly clear that the only reason that Lotor is asking him this is because he’s playing niceties, which sparks flares of annoyance from within Keith’s chest.

“They aren’t  _ fantasies _ .” Lance grumbles with barely veiled anger, jutting a thumb back at Keith, “Could you just do me a favor and leave my trainer to eat?” 

Lotor cocks an eyebrow as his gaze returns to Keith’s and for a moment a wave of protectiveness swarms him as Keith finds his knee pressing against Lance’s thigh.  _ His trainer. _ Lotor speaks with the same, haughty smirk, “Oh, trainer, now, are you? I’ve never seen retirement come so fast. I suppose that’s what happens when you get a little washed up… pardon the pun.” Lotor smirks a little broader with amusement and Keith bristles. He can see it, he can  _ tell  _ that Lotor is purposefully trying to rile him up but for what reason Keith can’t guess as Lotor tilts his head at him with feigned curiosity, “Speaking of which, how’s your brother doing? Recovering well, I hope?” 

Keith’s nostrils flare as his defensiveness gets the better of him, “Just fine, thank you.” 

Lotor nods with sobriety and an almost sardonically melancholy expression, “That’s good to hear. It truly was such a tragedy that befell him that day at the tournament. Such a promising career…” He raises an eyebrow then at Keith as he continues with the same gilded tone, like Keith ought to hang onto his every word, “I must say that I am curious, what does he do now? Surfing was his whole life, after all… after such a horrible accident there can’t be much for him to want to accomplish. Especially in his… condition.”

Keith stands up so abruptly the table jarrs, his hands plant on the surface as he glares down Lotor with sudden fresh fire in the back of his throat. Lotor merely raises an eyebrow at him cloyingly, like he did exactly what he wanted Keith to do, but before he can act or do much else one of Lotor’s friends, who have taken up residence at the bar, come over to him and whisper in his ear, the one with the short hair cut at her jawline. Well, truth be told the only  _ real  _ thing that’s really stopping Keith is the entire table in between him and Lotor, but one more word out of his mouth he could maneuver his legs into his seat to launch himself upon him… 

She makes eye contact with Keith for a long lingering moment, he keeps his fists clenched as her gaze, like those of a hunter, flicker across his form with a very obvious movement downward before their eyes remeet and she pulls away, moving back to the bar. 

Lotor looks back at the table with an apologetic smile, raising his hands amicably, “My apologies, please excuse me- wonderful to see you all.” His eyes like those of a serpent’s linger for far too long for Keith’s liking on Allura, who has been staring down the bottom of her Long Island Ice Tea for the duration of this talk, before turning and walking to the bar where his friends await him. 

It’s fortunate for him, because otherwise Keith was about two seconds away from rearranging his face for daring to talk to him about Shiro. He can talk his honeyed shit about Keith all he likes, but  _ no one  _ is allowed to speak that way about Shiro. Not if Keith can help it.

Lance immediately explodes with a fit of frothing swears, “Fucking  _ shit  _ I hate that guy so  _ fucking  _ much- Allura, are you okay?” 

Mutely she nods, letting out a soft breath as she sucks down the last of her tea, Romelle rubbing her shoulders comfortingly beside her. 

Pidge speaks up next, crossing their arms as they lean back in their seat with their glasses reflecting the soft sunlit hues of the light over the table, “Maybe we should go, I’m kinda done anyway.” 

The others make soft noises of agreement in response, they gather their things and pay their bills as Lotor and his posse make themselves at home at the bar. The time this takes gives Keith a chance to cool down his sudden fever, just enough that the perpetual boiling blood within him was at a low simmer. He’s a bit curious, however; he wants to ask what exactly is Lotor’s business with _Allura_ ; he’d said hello to her first, she did nothing but look down at her glass like she wanted to turn invisible, and she was the last thing he looked at upon leaving, but for once in his life Keith finds the social grace necessary not to ask, simply because it’s not his business, favoring instead to stick to Lance’s side as they make their way to the parking lot. 

“I think I get now why you wanna win the ISF so badly.” Keith profers once they’re outside, pulling on the collar of his leather jacket as the breeze of evening hits him. It’s not particularly cold outside, far from it because it’s southern Cali, but he still finds himself stiff jointed like it’s forty degrees after that confrontation. 

Lance raises an eyebrow at him with a slight smirk in response, “Hah, yeah.” He looks away then and a flicker of something passes over his visage, idle concern maybe, but not quite, it’s more troubled than that, like he just had an invasive thought, but just as quick as Keith is to notice it its gone, replaced with a happy-go-lucky smile as he looks over at Veronica, “You sure you don’t work with him? He seems like the type of guy you’d work with.” 

“More like my type.” Pidge grumbles with a jeering look over their shoulder, “Know-it-all bastard who doesn’t know what no means. All he needs is a crippling hentai addiction and an obsession with some obscure show or comic book and he’s spot on personality-wise.” 

Allura giggles beside them, lightening the mood of all as they hover in the parking lot before saying their goodbyes and splitting ways.

Pidge offers to take Keith home, since they’re already taking Hunk home in that area, as Veronica, Allura, Romelle, and Lance pile into the car to head back to their place. Keith almost asks Veronica to take him home instead to he can sit in Lance’s presence for just a little while longer but he decides against it, that would be a little weird after all, a little too gay of him. He thanks Pidge politely and gets into their backseat quietly, pulling out his phone as they drive off. 

Pidge and Hunk strike up idle chatter in the front seat, ambient music playing from their radio and floating across Keith’s raging thoughts. First thing he does is text Shiro.  _ “Hey. How are you?”  _ It’s late here, so even later over in Houston, but Keith figures there’s about a fifty/fifty chance that Shiro will text him back anyway. He has chronic nightmares and developed some insomnia because of it, though he has been feeling a lot better recently thanks to his new PTSD medication. Still… after that, Keith’s sudden paranoia has spiked to the point that he won’t rest well until he hears from him. Keith switches to playing a mindless game that sets his thoughts at ease until he gets a message in response several minutes later ,  _ “I’m doing alright, watching a movie with Adam. Are u ok?”  _

_ “Yeah.”  _

_ “You sure?”  _

Keith looks up as the car slows and braces himself to get out, murmuring appreciatively, “Thanks again for the ride, Pidge.” 

“Anytime.” They respond swiftly. He gets out of the car and as he’s in his driveway he hears them speak again, “Oh, hey, Keith?” 

He blinks and looks back at the car with a confused expression. They are a little hard to see in the darkness of the fallen night but he can tell that they’re half leaning out the window with an arm draped along the car door, the other on the steering wheel as they peer over their glasses to look at him seriously, “Keep training Lance good. I’d really love for him to put Lotor in his place.” 

Keith smirks a little in response with an amused lilt to his tone, “I’ll do my best.” 

With a little salute Pidge pulls out of the driveway, heading back onto the street. Keith pulls out his phone and opens the flashlight, using it as a guide to get back to his house through the dark of the woods. 

...

Keith isn’t sure how he got roped into it, but they’re going to a karaoke bar about three days since the Lotor incident at  _ Rita’s. _ Well, they as in Lance, Pidge, Hunk, and Allura that is. No Romelle or Veronica tonight. It’s one of those things that Keith has a gut feeling that he’ll end up gayer as the night goes on because Lance, who is a natural goofball, will either make him laugh so hard he’ll see rainbows or he’ll be surprisingly good enough to make Keith’s heart palpitate. Or, at least, that’s what he thinks will happen. He has to be prepared regardless. 

And prepared he is, as he was sitting out on his porch for a solid half an hour before Pidge picked him up. “Hey there broody, you ready to sing?” Pidge teases from the front seat as Keith shuts the door behind him, driving off with an excited thrum of the engine. Keith is relatively sure that they’re wearing the same overalls he saw them in last time. Same shirt, too.

He offers a slight smirk as he leans on the car door, his gaze drifting out the window, “I’m not broody.” They merely give him a tired look as he continues with an offhanded gesture, “And I’m not singing. I’m here to watch you make fools of yourselves.” 

“Hey, you can’t come to a karaoke bar and not sing!” Lance’s voice calls to him and pulls his attention away from the trees. He’s in a light blue button down rolled up to his elbows with acid washed shorts, ripped off by his knees, and a dark blue snapback with some kind of winged symbol on it, one that Keith recognizes from the surfing brand VLD. 

Allura smiles slightly from beside Keith, her hair like frothy ocean waves cascades down past her shoulders and overtop some pink off-the-shoulder top, “Don’t worry, there will be plenty of embarrassment to go around, I can’t sing worth a dime.” Keith realized by now that Allura’s accent’s British, or at least from that hemisphere, it sounds like bell chimes and is soothing to listen to.

Hunk smiles from his seat at the front, “It’ll be fine, half the fun is getting embarrassed! Secondhand  _ and  _ firsthand.” He’s in a orange Henley with a dark green vest on top and slacks, a becoming look, surprisingly professional. 

It’s around this time that Pidge pulls into the parking lot of the bar. It’s late evening now, the sun has already begun to set, but it’s early enough that there is a minimal wait to get into the bar. All of the passengers of the car have to consent to getting their hands X’ed to show they’re under legal drinking age - everyone except Allura, who is given a bright yellow wristband. Inside the bar is a bunch of booths and tables that encircle a stage on the far wall with a trio of microphones and a TV screen facing outwards, another, smaller one facing the stage, presumably where the songs lyrics could be read. The wide room has an amicable feeling to it, it smells of fruity alcohol and something sweet, like strawberry perfume, and cologne. 

Lance claims the group a table near the front, they cluster together on one side so they can face the stage and Keith finds himself wedged in between Lance and Hunk, Allura on the other side of Lance and Pidge on the other side of Hunk. It’s hard for Keith to think straight, what with all the people, the bustle, the talking, the smells, the noise, the pressure, the people’s eyes watching- 

Lance’s hand finds the middle of Keith’s back and he nearly jumps as he looks over at him with wide eyes, even in the dark the gentle hues are as deep as the sea as he regards him with a gentle expression, “Is this okay?” 

Lance has a sense of people. That Keith always could easily see. Lance could tell when Keith would be uncomfortable in places, and as of a few weeks ago he started checking in with him in moments like this, asking him  _ is this okay.  _ Even if he wasn’t okay before, that simple question would always settle his fraying nerves and make the atmosphere less oppressive, like Lance had made a personal bubble just for them. 

But he really can’t afford to think like that. Lance is _ straight. _ Lance is  _ straight.  _

Deftly Keith nods and turns back to the stage like the small moment they shared wasn’t a showstopper, instead he focuses on the pair of drunk girls who just stumbled on the platform. They perform  _ Say My Name  _ by Destiny’s Child, a song that a surprising number of people at the song don’t know which Keith finds to be a bit blasphemous; it’s an “oldies but goodies” song list tonight, Hunk looked it up before hand and reported it to the group chat. Groups come and go from the stage, Allura gets the group drinks, all virgin except for hers, and they drink and laugh and watch the performers with lively enthusiasm. 

However, the call of the wild could only be withstood for so long; eventually Hunk gets up and goes to put himself in the queue, the others immediately whoop and holler in excitement as Pidge shouts for him to jot them down to go with them. After a few minutes they stand and perform  _ Africa  _ by Toto, much to the group’s absolute amusement, and a little of Keith’s own. He can appreciate a good song, though he doesn’t quite understand what’s funny about it. At least, it seems like there’s something funny about it, because Lance doesn’t stop laughing all throughout the performance. Hunk has a deep, bellowing voice that carries across the bar, and Pidge’s is at the perfect level that the song requires for the pair to sing together in harmony, the bar all but riots with other groups, far drunker than their own, join in. 

By the time they take their seats, Lance had also apparently had enough watching. “Hey, Keith, let’s go up next.” 

Keith looks over at him with an incredulous look and is startled by the blue, quickly he crosses his arms as Lance seems to deplore his very soul. “I told you, I’m not singing.” He huffs, waving a hand towards where the wait list lies on the far side of the room, “You go.” 

“But it’s no fun by yourself!” Lance pouts, lacing his fingers together beneath his chin as he regards Keith with baby blues like a begging toddler, “Come on, I bet they’ve got  _ Queen _ .” He says this with a singsongy voice, like that’s supposed to entice him. Well, it does, but not in the way that either of them want it to. At least, so Keith thinks. 

“Get Allura to go with you.” He attempts to divert, flickering his gaze to the other side of Lance. 

Allura, upon hearing her name, makes eye contact with Keith. Her eyes are also a startling blue, but they’re more like sapphires than oceans. “Hell no. Not drunk enough yet.” She lifts her martini glass as if case in point and downs the last of its contents. 

“Yeah!” Lance continues with the argument, his arms flailing as he gestures first to the stage then to Keith, “Besides, I don’t just wanna do it, I wanna do it with  _ you! _ ” 

_ Fucking shit.  _

Keith takes a steadying breath to hide how fast his heart rate just escalated. Lance is  _ straight,  _ Keith. Lance is  _ straight.  _ He takes a deep drink of his water glass as Lance implores the side of his stonewalled face, asking still with a face of such innocence,  _ fuck it, fucking shit, fuck it.  _ He stands up, slapping his glass a little harder than he means to onto the table before making his way over to the waitlist. 

It takes a second, but eventually Lance is beside him with a wild laugh, “Haha, awesome! Thanks dude, this is gonna be sick!” His smile is contagious, Keith can feel the corners of his own mouth beginning to turn upwards despite his mental fortress telling him not to. One hint of emotion is all Lance needs to know the depth, he can’t show him  _ any  _ because he doesn’t want to freak him out. He doesn’t want to drive him away just because… 

They make it to the queue. There’s a list of songs for them to choose, and as Keith is scrolling down Lance suddenly gasps and stops him on one, his finger hovering over familiar words, “This one! This is such a bop!” He flashes Keith a cocky raise in his brow, and frankly Keith doesn’t appreciate it. It’s a guaranteed  _ yes  _ whenever he gives him that look; Lance could be telling Keith to leave the bar and never come back with that look, or asking him to punch the bartender for a kiss with that look, and Keith would fucking do it. In a second. Like a sailor to a siren. 

He doesn’t move to say anything, he keeps his face a carefully constructed mask, instead he holds his hand out to the list for Lance to mark them down with. He takes the space gladly, smiling all the while with the giddy energy of that kid from  _ a Christmas story  _ on Christmas morning.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _

Once they’re in the queue Lance snatches Keith’s hand and pulls him back towards their seat, before Keith can properly process it he’s already releasing him once Keith is in his shadow. Keith holds his hand in his pocket once it’s in his own possession again, trailing just behind the other. He’s taller than him by about an inch or two, he can tell from this angle. 

It feels like he just got electrocuted, his nerves are on fire, and his hand has never felt colder. Frigid, frostbitten. He wants to dunk it back into the heat of Lance’s hand again, keep it there, keep his fingers from falling off… but he can’t afford to indulge in such thoughts. Because Lance is  _ straight.  _

Keith takes a settling breath once he’s sitting back down, his gaze flitting to the faces of the crowd. The bar is getting packed in now, night must have fallen outside, and the rabble of those drinking in nearby tables is starting to make Keith’s ears ring. His only solace is with the proximity of his own group, the gentle rumble of Hunk’s voice and the alluring melody of Allura’s. 

“I’m proud of you dude, you’re gonna kill it!” 

“I’m going to need another drink if I have to listen to Lance sing.” 

Lance gasps dramatically and looks over at Allura with a hand over his heart, “Ex _ cuuuuse  _ me but be prepared to eat those words, Princess!” He takes a swig of his water glass like he’s taking a shot for dramatic effect but ends up almost choking as it goes down the wrong pipe, Allura gently pats his shoulder as he coughs. 

_ Fucking hell.  _ **_This_ ** _ is the idiot I decided to like?  _

Keith looks away pointedly and nurses his own drink. Decisions had nothing to do with it. If Keith could decide who he liked, then he definitely wouldn’t have  _ chosen  _ Lance. Not because of his looks or anything… Keith can’t deny that Lance is attractive. Like,  _ really  _ attractive, come to think of it… but why would he purposefully doom himself to like someone who could never like him back? That’s the key factor, here. Not that Lance is unlikeable. He is very likeable… For girls.

It comes time for the two of them to go up, and Keith’s stomach ties into 37 individual knots. Each step feels like the denizens of hell are clawing at his bootlaces, each stranger’s eye is a laser that stabs into his flesh and sears his mind into seconds turn into years, the lights refract in his eyes and catch the glass edges of bottles on the far wall, he must be walking strangely, how else is one to walk on the way to the executioner’s stand, this is probably overdramatic, there’s nothing to worry about, it’ll be over before he knows it, but before he knows it he’s laid naked before bright white lights and sees nothing, only the eyes of cats, eager for fresh blood, the eyes of void, staring into his ribs like he’s standing before a council to be decided on his eternal fate’s choice to pick apart his stance by the seams with threadrippers and his head spins with the noise of a thousand wasps demanding his gaze of the audience, he’s shaking, he can feel himself shaking, shaking in his clothes, he can’t do this, he tried his best, good show, maybe next time, he needs to sit down, there’s a clogged haze over his vision like spores exploded and shrouded the room with infected judgement, he can’t do this, he needs to sit down, he’s gonna pass out, when did the microphone appear in his hands, where is he again, why did he agree to do this when he knows that he can’t sing with a goddamn cent of his life’s scent is masked by sweat and the blood singing his final hymns in his ears and hands grab his shoulders and twist him about and it’s gone. 

He’s under a spotlight with Lance. He’s holding him by both shoulders with an enthusiastic smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, bright blue like the skies at midday. Pools of water in moonlight. He’s worried.

“Keep your eyes on me.” He murmurs. 

Like Keith would do anything else. 

Music starts, a familiar tune, Lance’s smile broadens and he sings with tangible enthusiasm into the microphone,  _ “Can anybooodyyyyyyyy find meeeeeeee… somebody toooooo loooove!”  _

Keith watches with a slightly agape mouth, stunned and taken aback as Lance takes a step forward, drawing all eyes to him as he dives into the song. 

_ “Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little, _ _   
_ _ Can barely stand on my feet!”  _

Keith hears an awkward break in the song, he looks up to where Lance’s eyes are and sees that there’s a two part to this piece, the left side of the screen is red and the right is blue, and those are the words that Lance sings,  _ “Take a look in the mirror and cry! _ _   
_ _ Lord, what you’re doing to me! _ _   
_ _ I have spent all my years believing in you, _ _   
_ _ But I just can’t get no relief, Lord! _ _   
_ __ Somebody-”

Keith comes to his senses as the song compulsively takes over him, pulling himself together he sings in echo with Lance,  _ “Somebody.” _

Lance turns around with a raised eyebrow and smirks broadly, a look that sends a shot straight through his chest,  _ “Ooh, somebody-”  _

Keith swallows,  _ “Somebody.” _

Lance throws his arms open, the crowd begins to sing along,  _ “Can anybooooody find meeeeee somebody to love?”  _

Keith’s chest is on fire, just like his face, but he can’t tell if it’s the lights of the stage or the sun in his face but it’s contagious, Lance infuses the crowd and himself with the soul of Freddie Mercury as he sings dramatically into the microphone.  _ “I work hard-”  _

Keith barely remembers he also has a part to play, too caught up in watching Apollo’s chariot,  _ “He works hard-”  _

_ “Everyday of my life, _ _   
_ _ I work ‘til I ache in my bones! _ _   
_ __ At the end-”

_ “At the end of the day-” _

_ “I take home my hard earned pay all on my own! _ _   
_ _ I get down,” _

_ “Down-!” _

_ “On my knees-” _

Keith nearly chokes, caught up in watching the muscles move under Lance’s shirt,  _ “Knees!”  _

Lance is smiling broadly, enthusiastically, proudly.  _ “And I start to pray,  _ _   
_ _ ‘Til the tears run down from my eyes, Lord! _ _   
_ __ Somebody-”

_ “Somebody!” _

_ “Ooh, somebody please, can anybody find me somebody to love?”  _

They continue to sing this same fashion once more until suddenly the sides change. Lance, the Freddy in this situation, suddenly becomes the side voices and it’s Keith’s turn to take the forefront of the stage. In a split second he thinks it impossible, the seizure of his throat says so, but when Lance’s eyes expectantly meet his Keith suddenly grows the ability to move mountaintops and raze grasslands. Set fire to the stars and race through the Milky Way along trails of cosmic dust, from one simple look. He doesn’t even swallow, he doesn’t hesitate, he sings like his life, no, Lance’s life depends on it. 

_ “Got no feel, I got no rhythm, _ _   
_ _ I just keep losing my beat.” _

Lance smiles enthusiastically like a victor, Keith’s mouth dries at the very sight as he responds in kind,  _ “You just keep losing and losing-” _

Keith smirks, his gaze enveloped in nothing but him as the confidence from Lance seems to bleed into him,  _ “I’m okay, I’m alright-” _

_ “He’s alright, he’s alright”  _

_ “I ain’t gonna face no defeat! _ _   
_ _ I just gotta get out of this prison cell, _ _   
_ __ One day I’m gonna be free, Lord!”

They got closer at some point, Keith isn’t sure when, but now they’re less than a foot away as they sing the lyrics together. Keith doesn’t need to look at the lyric board, he knows Queen better than anyone, but the pressure is mounting, from where he isn’t sure, his blues are inescapable, he’s so close, he can smell his cologne,  _ “Find me somebody to love-” _

Lance is staring him down with intensity that Keith has never seen, like he has something to prove by singing to him with a sudden husky undertone,  _ “Find me somebody to love-” _

_ “Find me somebody to love-” _

_ “Find me somebody to love-” _

_ “Find me somebody to love-” _

_ “Find me somebody to love-” _

_ “Find me somebody to love, love, love-”  _

Lance explodes, an arm violently slinging an arm across Keith’s shoulders as he whirls towards the crowd and cries, “ _ Can anybody find meeeeeeee! Somebody tooOOOOOOOOOOO…”  _ He pulls on his best Freddy Mercury impression, one that’s surprisingly good to Keith, with his free hand pressed to his chest as a slight hush falls across the bar,  _ “... Loooove.”  _

The crowd applauds for the pair as Lance can’t help but bow with the flair that Queen deserves, pausing only to pull Keith down from the stage and back towards their group. In the dark Keith feels completely blind, the only thing keeping him from tripping on his face is the warm grasp around his wrist, gentle as sand but soft as ribbons. 

“Dude, holy shit, great job!” Hunk calls, Keith feels a large hand clap him on the back as he’s directed to sit back down in his chair, the familiarizing warmth pressed against his knees. Eventually his eyes adjust, right as a new group of three people go up to the stage to sing  _ Don’t Stop Believin’  _ by Journey but Keith’s mind isn’t on them. His thoughts trail his eyes to the blues of the man beside him, who’s reclining back in his seat with the laze of a Roman Emperor. Suddenly, struck by the artistic angle of the lights upon his sun-kissed skin, Keith wants to draw him, just like that. Looking slightly away from him, his arm reclining on the back of his chair with his legs out in front of him. A quiet expression, a lazy smile that’s too soft to be ingenuine. That’s a Lance face that Keith wants to memorialize in charcoal. 

Allura beside him whispers in a hushed voice, one that normally wouldn’t be heard over the din but due to Keith’s position he’s able to latch onto the words, “The girls at the bar are quite taken with you.” 

Lance perks up a bit like an excited puppy being told he’s a good boy, turning to look over his shoulder towards the bar, “Oh yeah?” 

Keith’s heart collapses. Crushed. Parted in twain. He finds his gaze following Lance’s helplessly to the bar and sees the women in question, a pair of girls with long brown hair and big smiles over in their direction.  _ Lance’s  _ direction. 

Lance winks at them and makes a fingergun right back at them with a soft clicking under his tongue like he’s Starlord or some shit.

Keith is swarmed with two things instantaneously, the first and most easily identifiable is the heartache, but the second is harder to touch on, harder to understand, it’s only when Keith’s desire to reach out and snatch Lance’s hand gets to be nearly impossible to ignore that he realizes it’s jealousy. He’s  _ jealous.  _

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _

Keith excuses himself quietly with a bare excuse under his breath to go to the bathroom but he doesn’t think the others are paying him any mind. He retreats there swiftly, hides himself away in a stall, and  _ breathes.  _

_ What else did you expect? Lance is straight. He likes girls, and girls like him, it makes sense. You know what makes no sense? You freaking out over this. You knew this. This is what you get for liking someone who is not only  _ **_not_ ** _ into you, but not even into your whole gender. God, you’re so fucking stupid. Fuck. Fuck.  _

He stays there for a while, simply talking himself away from his feelings in cycles.  _ You need to let it go. Let it go. Lance is allowed to like other people. Hell, he  _ **_should_ ** _ like other people. He’s straight. Being attracted to girls is what straight guys do. You can’t go being upset with his very nature, that doesn’t make any sense. Just another example of why you need to get over this crush faster, Keith. Get over it. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t like guys, it’s never going to happen. It’s never going to happen. It’s never going to happen. _

Only once he is able to fully get a manage on his emotions again does he wash his hands and make his way back out. 

He bumps into Lance right in the doorway as he’s leaving the bathroom. “Oh hey man, there you are!” Lance grins excitedly, like he’s genuinely happy to see him for some reason that Keith can’t guess, “Hunk was just telling me how he was tired and so we thought it’d be a good idea to head out. Are you ready? If not I’m down to stick around-” 

Keith nods slightly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he interrupts him midsentence, “Yeah, I’m ready to go.” 

Lance’s eyebrows furrow as those  _ stupid  _ eyes give him a once over, Keith struggles to maintain his hard expression as he meets his  _ stupid  _ gaze, “You doing okay? You look kinda tense.” 

Keith meets his gaze with stone in his face and (hopefully) in his heart, “I’m always tense.” 

With a look up and down of his form Lance raises an eyebrow before laughing softly, “I can’t even tell if you’re being serious or not, all this emo over here.” He gives him a gesture with a finger as he moves to leave the small hallway they find themselves in, Keith follows in step just after a second of deliberation. 

The ride back is quiet. Pidge drops Keith off first. He says his goodbyes, avoids Lance’s eyes, and ducks into his shack once they’re gone, all the while his brain making white noise like it’s its job. 

Kosmo greets him at the door, his tail wagging ferociously knocking against the dog baggies by the door. Keith kneels once he’s inside, not even letting the door shut behind him as he wraps his arms around his friend and holds him close. Kosmo responds to Keith’s energy immediately, nosing the back of his neck as he leans into his arms with comforting pressure. 

Sitting like that for long enough has Keith feeling better in no time, but still not fantastic. He breaks away with a sigh, scratching his dog behind his ears as he moves into his room in the back. His shack is all one room except for the bathroom, his bed is through a narrow hallway past the kitchen; he didn’t bother putting up doors because that’s just one more expense he could’ve avoided. Besides, he’s the only one with the intention of living here, so why bother? 

He gets to his bed and plugs in the Christmas lights next to it, his gentle light in the room when the lamp he stole from Shiro’s place in the move is too strong, before kicking off his boots and his pants. Because fuck pants. Fuck  _ everything,  _ frankly. He lies on his side, pulls out his phone, and starts to scroll through Tumblr.

He finally got Wifi installed last week, so he doesn’t have to keep going to the  _ Tottering Teacup  _ to FaceTime Shiro, but it became a bit of a tradition for him anyway so sometimes he still does it, simply to get out of the house every once in a while. His bed dips and Keith impulsively lifts his arms as Kosmo wiggles to lie on top of him, resting his fluffy head on his chest with a gentle whine. He rubs his friend’s ears absentmindedly, deeply appreciative for the comfort as his chest, even though he’s distracted now, still aches. 

Because he’s a  _ fucking idiot  _ who decided to fall for a  _ straight guy.  _

He gets a text after lying there for about a half hour. His heart leaps against his will when he sees the name, he opens it up immediately as he uses one hand to stroke Kosmo’s scruff.  _ “Hey, be proud of me, we passed an ice cream truck and i didn’t get any.”  _

Keith smirks and shakes his head slightly despite himself, typing back lazily with one hand,  _ “You know, you are allowed have sweets every once in a while. Just know that I’ll make you work for it.”  _ Keith puts his phone down once he sent the message. Was that too much? It didn’t seem flirty, did it? He meant it literally, but he’s been told many times, once by Lance, that his texts are hard to read for subtext. He doesn’t quite get it; he texts in sentences, straight forward, there’s no way to mistake them that way, but sometimes it happens anyway. But in those scenarios is the confusion avoidable? Keith doesn’t think so, subtext clear or no. 

He feels his phone buzz a few minutes later. It’s a gif from Lance, a bear with its fists up decreeing “fight me”. He snickers and replies,  _ “I’d win.”  _

It’s his nightly ritual. Get in bed with Kosmo, pet Kosmo, look at art, text Lance until he falls asleep. It’s been this way for three weeks running now, and Keith isn’t sure that he’d be able to fall asleep if these criteria weren’t met. Lance texts him back then, he feels his phone vibrate on his arm,  _ “Oh ya probs, you seem scrappy. ;)”  _

Keith blinks, staring at the message. What the fuck does  _ that  _ mean?  _ “What do you mean?”  _

He ventures to ask. 

His response is pretty immediate.  _ “U could probs kick my ass if it came down to a real fight??”  _

_ “Oh. I wouldn’t ever fight you.”  _

_ “Aww, not even if I got replaced by an evil robot bent on destroying the world?”  _

_ “That wouldn’t be you, then. And I’m not sure how I’d fair against a Terminator-Lance.”  _

_ “Lol tru!!! I love that movie. You should come over and watch it sometime!!”  _

Keith’s ashamed at how quickly his heart races at the proposition of seeing Lance’s home. That he shares with Veronica and Allura… but it’s still his space.  _ “I’ve never been to your place.”  _

_ “We should change that!!” _ There’s nothing for a few minute until Lance texts him again,  _ “Vero’s planning on throwing me a party after the opener to the ISF on that Saturday, you should come. There will be a lot of people though… I know that isn’t your scene but it would mean a lot to me if my fearless trainer was there :0)”  _

Keith is fading fast. His eyelids droop just looking at his phone, and after a long day of social interaction he knows he’s in no condition to be committing to another, even more draining event. Even if it is for Lance.  _ “I’ll think about it. Goodnight Lance.” _

_ “right back at u!” _

More recently, Keith’s added one extra layer to his steps getting to sleep, but it’s been much more subconscious, much sneakier in its intentions. As he turns off the Christmas lights Kosmo retreats to lie on the foot of the bed instead of on top of him, he’s learned how much of a wild shifter Keith is in his sleep. He gives his friend one last pet before he turns to lie on his side, cuddling one of his copious pillows to his chest. His eyes close, and as he feels the draw to sleep his imagination takes over. 

He isn’t quite asleep yet, no, he’s conscious and aware that he is, but he pretends that he isn’t so that he didn’t have to shame himself for this. The imagining that the pillow under his head is an arm. The one near his back, pressed against the wall, is a torso. The faint air movement from his fan in the corner is warm breath on the back of his neck. The fantasy trails of warmth along his arms and chest from imaginary hands of a dark complexion touching him, holding onto him, grabbing him. 

Usually, as soon as Keith grows cognizant of himself doing this he stops and chastises himself, but it’s hard. It’s hard when the imaginary hands are so inviting, when the ghost breath on his neck chuckles at his neediness and want. When his mind craves something that he cannot have. 

Keith buries his face into his pillow. He got a whiff of Lance’s cologne tonight and now that he’s dreaming of him he can feel it floating all around him, pure fabrication but simulation is enough. Brisk and spicy like fall in the Northeast. 

He can imagine what Lance would be like. To cuddle with, to have in bed, in any facet of the phrase. He likes to imagine it. 

Cuddling Lance would be a total koala, with those gangly limbs of his all over the place. Wrapped up around him and holding him tightly, spooning or face to face, Lance would be the type to just latch onto him and never let go, this Keith is sure of. 

In bed Keith imagines Lance would snore when he’s exhausted after a long day of training, but not usually. He’d drool, too, he seems the type. But when he wasn’t spent completely or in REM sleep, Keith imagines that Lance would look to be at peace, burning with warmth under his hands as they caress his face, unlined from the worries of the day, unfettered by putting up a front that Keith suspects so often he does. Especially when he seems more happy-go-lucky than usual. 

In  _ bed _ , though… Keith isn’t sure. He likes to imagine a lot of possibilities. Perhaps Lance would be gentle, he’s a servicer at heart, worshipping with soft praises under his breath and slow grinds of his hips against his, driving Keith wild. Perhaps he’s an animal; all that time spent suppressing what he wants catches up to him and makes him want to take and take and Keith would be  _ so  _ willing to give, to let Lance take everything from him and brand him with his teeth on his neck,  _ claiming _ him. Or perhaps  _ he’s  _ the one that wants to be cared for. Keith can imagine it through warped glass, Lance laid beneath him with his arms above his head, helpless, looking up at Keith with those big blue eyes and asking him,  _ begging  _ him to touch him. Keith isn’t sure which he prefers in his dreams, fucking Lance into an absolute oblivion where he’s a disheveled mess only capable of moaning his name or sweetly driving into him, bringing him up to his high with slow deliberate movements that make his oh so clever tongue lose its senses and babble with nothingness. 

God _ damn  _ did Keith fall hard for this fucker. This  _ straight  _ fucker. 

If he could take it back… 

Keith groans in complaint and rolls onto his other side, hugging his pillow to his chest to suppress the sudden bout of yearning that takes him. He dives back into the imagination, the absolving touch that cancels out the lack of warmth he feels now, and eventually it lulls him into such a stupor that he falls asleep wondering why his bed feels so large. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially posted this but then realized i had 289819275 problems with it but didn't have time to edit it so i took it down to repost later (now!)   
> We're getting to REALLLLL YEARNING HOURS HERE FOLKS  
> If you like the story please leave a kudos and a comment!!! i'd love to hear your thoughts, your favorite parts, all that good stuff.

**Author's Note:**

> Note:  
> I changed some of the character names to make them more modernly realistic, I've listed them here  
> Acxa = Alexa  
> Ezor = Ella  
> Zethrid = Zethra


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